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POSSESSION 

WITH 

THE GROOVE, THE UNBORN, CIRCLES, 
A GOOD WOMAN, THE BLACK TIE 

ONE- ACT PLATS OF CONTEMPORARY LIFE 



BY 

GEORGE MIDDLETON 

Author of Embers, Tradition, NonuadaySy etc. 



" these women are. 

More brain, O Lord, more brain! or we shall mar 
Utterly this fair garden we might win." 

Modern Lo've. 




NEW YORK 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
1915 



Copyright, igis, 

BY 

GEORGE MIDDLETON 



?5 3^2,r 



Copyright in Great Britain and Ireland, and in all Coun- 
tries subscribing to the Bern Convention. 

Published Janu a ry -, igis 



These plays in their printed form are designed for the 
reading public only. All dramatic rights in them are fully 
protected by copyright, both in the United States and in 
Great Britain, and no performance— professional or amateur 
—or public reading, may be given without the written permis- 
sion of the author and the payment of royalty. Communica- 
tions should be sent to the author, care of Henry Holt and 
Co., 34 West 33d St., New York City. 



THE QUINN A BODEN CO. PRESS 
RAHWAY, N. J. 

MAR -8 1915 
©CI.D 39891 



t ' 



O- 



To my good friend 
RALPH CURTIS RINGWALT 



PREFACE 

It is a fact that many plays which aim at a serious 
presentation of life are denied a hearing solely because 
the manager — necessarily commercial — has learned 
from experience that the theater in America has not 
been able as yet so to organize its audiences that such 
plays will be as liberally supported as kaleidoscopic 
comedies and lithographic melodramas. The dramatist, 
therefore, who prefers to follow the impulse within 
him, irrespective of whether or not his play may have 
a wide popular appeal, has had little encouragement. 
This is obviously so where his subjects are quietly inti- 
mate and where the clash of character is subtly mental 
or emotional; especially when one compares such plays 
with those others, no more dramatic in essence, which 
naturally command a greater audience because the 
action is physical, external, and more readily compre- 
hended. 

If he be honest enough, however, to recognize frankly 
the many reasons why conditions are as they are, he 
need not bewail what may be only a transitional state 
of affairs. He will pursue his work for the joy it will 
bring him : he will not compromise with what vision and 
art he may possess. By doing this he will at least 
achieve his own self-expression — ^which should be of 
prime importance to him; and he will not lose his pro- 

vii 



viii PREFACE 

portion by coddling himself with self-pity over the 
neglect of the larger public. 

Speaking for such workers I have suggested in my 
preface to Nowadays the value of play publica- 
tion: not as a substitute for production but as an 
alternative for those whose dramas may offer little 
attraction to the manager because of theme or treat- 
ment. Through publication the dramatist thus gains a 
certain audience otherwise denied him, and time, too, 
may bring him the production which each play must 
have to make It a vital living expression. It has been 
this thought — ^which contains no criticism of the many 
excellent plays that win an easy way to the footlights — 
as well as the limited opportunities afforded the one- 
act play in America, which has impelled me to offer 
another volume to a reading public already generous to 
my earlier efforts. 

Possession continues my series of one-act plays 
begun In Embers and Tradition. In it I have 
sought once more to depict intimate phases of modern 
character expressing Itself on contending planes of evo- 
lution. As Spinoza points out, one should look at all 
the motives of human feeling which drive people into 
action, not as vices of human nature, but as properties 
belonging to it, just as cold and heat belong to the air. 
To reflect these motives, with a sympathy which does 
not sentimentalize them, should be. In my opinion, the 
highest aim of the dramatist, who through the moving 
quality of his medium may thus in turn broaden a little 
the human sympathies of the beholder. With this idea 
in the background these plays, in the main, are studies 



PREFACE ix 

in marriage and family relations, having the emphasis 
on woman — blindly groping or clear visioned, as the 
case may be — about whom to-day the conflict of social 
traditions with growing individualism is centered. 

G. M. 
October 29, 1914. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface vii 

Possession ........ i 

The Groove 59 

A Good Woman 95 

The Black Tie 125 

Circles 153 

The Unborn 187 



POSSESSION 



THE PEOPLE 

Howard Banning, a prominent financier, 
Katrine, his divorced wife. 
Polly, their daughter, 
Anne, an old family nurse, 
John, the butler. 



SCENE 

The entrance hallway in Banning's home. New York 
City, Late one March afternoon. 



POSSESSION * 

/f S the curtain slowly rises the broad entrance 
y4w hallway of a luxuriously appointed residence is 
•^ -^ disclosed. 

The porch without is faintly seen through the wide 
door whose beveled glass panel is covered with fine 
lace. Directly opposite this street entrance the broad 
stairway mounts to the floors above. In back, a 
short section of the wall, on which is an impos- 
ing bronze-shield clock, divides the open spaces of two 
handsomely decorated rooms that extend beyond: the 
one at the left is obviously a reception-room; the other, 
partly hidden by the stairway, is the dining-room. In 
the niche, made by the stairs and the wall at the right, a 
cozy corner is visible in which is tucked a small settee 
accessible to the ^phone on a low table. The hall- 
way itself is of the finest paneled wood, here and there 
supporting electric clusters now unlighted. It is, of 
course, simply furnished, though there are several long 
low attractively carved chests which stand against the 
visible and invisible walls. These are cushioned in 
tone to match the soft Oriental rugs on the hardwood 
floor. The entire impression is of studied simplicity 
made possible by great means. 

* Copyright, 1 9 14, by George Middleton. All rights reserved. 



4 POSSESSION 

Though it is late afternoon — the hands of the clock, 
in fact, indicate a quarter to five — the sun still pours 
in sufficiently through the glass door and the windows 
suggested in the extreme rear to light the hallway. 

For some moments no one is seen. Then Polly 
comes from the dining-room, looking for her " Alice in 
Wonderland/* 

Polly is about six or seven. She is dressed in a neat 
frock and her hair is tied with a ribbon which sets off 
her thoughtful face. She is rather a winsome body, 
with a quaint attractive charm all her own. 

She finds the book on one of the chests and slowly 
goes up the stairs looking at the pictures. Then she is 
no longer seen. 

A few seconds after this, the figure of a woman is 
indistinctly observed outside trying to look in through 
the street door. She hesitates a moment; then a key 
is heard slowly turning in the lock. She opens the door 
almost stealthily and stands there. She absently pushes 
the door to as though fearing one might see her and, 
not knowing what to do with the key, places it in her 
handbag. It is Katrine Banning. 

Katrine is about thirty. The thin outlines of her 
delicate face quickly reveal a woman of natural refine- 
ment and her general manner indicates assured social 
position. At present her large deep eyes are narrowed 
with suppressed excitement, her frail body quivers with 
alert attention; she seems tuned to a purpose. One in- 
tuitively gains a sense that she is not naturally self- 
willed, but has been made so by overwhelming circum- 
stance — a woman determined but unused to the per- 



POSSESSION 5 

vading emotion which is now impelling he?* life. She 
is quietly gowned. 

She gains control of herself, and after looking about 
the room for a moment as though it recalled many 
thingSj her eyes finally rest on the stairs. She slowly 
moves toward them — hesitating, gaining courage, and 
finally confident. As she is about to ascend them, how- 
ever, the telephone sharply rings. She quivers. In- 
stinctively she retreats into the reception-room as she 
hears the outer dining-room door open and close. With 
a quick glance in that direction, she conceals herself in 
back as John, the butler, in conventional garb, enters 
from the dining-room. As he goes to the 'phone 
Katrine steps out and listens, though she cannot be 
seen by the butler because of the intervening stairs. 

John 
{At the ^phone) 
Hello? . . . This is John. . . . Beg pardon, Mr. 
Banning; at half-past five? . . . (Katrine starts and 
quickly glances at the clock.) Very good, sir. Early 
dinner . . . I'll tell cook . . . Yes, sir . . . Anne 
has just brought Miss Polly in. . . . She's upstairs. 
. . . Very good, sir. 

(John hangs up the receiver. He is about to 
go when he notices a draught and looks at the 
street door, which, during this, has blown open. 
As he crosses to close it Katrine again retreats 
out of sight, John becomes somewhat sus- 
picious, but closes the door and then crosses into 
the dining-room. Katrine, thinking he has 



POSSESSION 

goncj comes out and starts quickly toward the 
stairs. John steps out, also, in front of her. 
He is civil but suspicious throughout.) 

John 
I beg pardon. Do you wish to see Mr. Banning? 

Katrine 
You don't know me? , 

John 
No, ma^am. 

Katrine 
Ohj yes ; you're new here. 

John 
Some months. 

Katrine 
That explains it. 

John 
(Js she again starts to go up) 
I beg pardon; perhaps you've got the wrong house. 

Katrine 
(Cynically) 
The wrong house? 



John 
(Firmly) 
Mr. Banning's very particular and I must be- 



POSSESSION 7 

Katrine 

{Realizing his suspicions) 

— careful ? Yes. One must be careful these days. 

John 
Will you leave a card? 

Katrine 
You might call Anne. 

John 
{Surprised) 
You know Anne? 

Katrine 
{Pointing to the push-button) 
Press the button three times. It's her call, I be- 
lieve. Then stay here till she comes. 

John 

{Doing so, puzzled) 
I beg pardon if I've made a mistake. 

Katrine 
You are quite right to be careful — ^with a child 
upstairs. 

John 
Thank you. 



8 POSSESSION 

Katrine 
I forgot I was a stranger here. (She begins to laugh 
nervously y much to his amazement.) Me — a stranger 
here! 

John 
I beg pardon, but 

KIatrine 
I told you, you did quite right. 

John 
(Points to reception-room) 
Won't you wait in there? 

Katrine 
(Abruptly) 
Is that clock right? 

John 
A trifle slow. 

Katrine 
Oh, yes; it never was on time. 

(As she begins laughing again nervously , Anne 
enters in back, completely astonished on seeing 
Katrine. 

Anne is about sixty, with white hair and a 
kind face. She is dressed in black with a white 
frilled cap.) 



POSSESSION 9 

Anne 
Miss Katie! 

Katrine 
Anne. 

Anne 
Oh, good Lord ! It's Miss Katie herself ! 

Katrine 
Mr. Banning's new butler thought me a thief. 

Anne 
A thief? 

Katrine 
Isn't it ridiculous? 

John 
I beg pardon, but the front door was open and no 
one 

Katrine 
{Impatiently) 
Tell him, Anne. So he'll know me if I call again. 

Anne 
It's Mrs, Banning! 

John 
{Astonished) 
Mrs. Banning! Oh, I beg pardon. {Recovering 
himself.) Mr. Banning will be here himself at half- 
past five. 



10 POSSESSION 

Katrine 
{Glancing at the clock) 
Yes, I know. I heard you. 

(Anne motions John to go. He leaves 
quietly in back; then Anne, her manner 
changed to one of extreme solicitude^ goes to 
Katrine^ who is seated on the chest laughing 
nervously.) 

Anne 
You'll have hysterics. 

Katrine 
(Bitterly) 
Think of a mother having to steal into the house 
to see her own child ! 

Anne 
Hush! Hush! He frightened you. 

Katrine 
(Controlling herself) 
I haven't given way like this once — since it all 
happened. 

Anne 
(Quieting her in a motherly fashion) 
There now, Miss Katie. 

Katrine 
I'm all right now. 



POSSESSION II 

Anne 
Yes, yes 

Katrine 
I thought Polly might be alone; or only with you. 
I didn't want any one else to see me. I had my old 
key. She's upstairs? 

Anne 
{Hesitating) 
Yes. 

Katrine 
{Looking at the clock again) 
Then I can see her, before Mr. Banning comes. 

Anne 
( Glancing quickly up toward the stairs, fearing Polly 

may hear) 
Is it best to see her now ? 

Katrine 
Anne! She's not getting used to my being away 
from her? 

Anne 
It wasn't easy for her at first ; but Mr. Banning told 
her 

Katrine 
{Sharply) 
What did he tell her? Say it, Anne. 



12 POSSESSION 

Anne 
That you'd gone away on a long trip, and wouldn't 
be back for a long time. 

Katrine 
Did he say anything unkind about me ? 

Anne 
I never hear him speak about you. 

Katrine 
Then you think Polly doesn't know what has 
happened ? 

Anne 
Ah, Miss Katie ; she's not old enough to understand 
such things. 

Katrine 
{Starting toward the stairs) 
I must go to her If only for a few moments. 

Anne 
{Half stopping her) 
Miss Katie 

Katrine 
You stop me, too? 

Anne 
It's breaking my old heart, Miss Katie, to see you 
taking on like this; but she'll tell Mr. Banning and 
he gave me particular orders 



POSSESSION 13 

Katrine 
{Abruptly) 
To shut me out? 

Anne 
{Lowering her head) 
He might send me away. 

Katrine 
Oh, yes — yes. 

{She sits again, slowly, as though overcome 
with perplexity.) 

Anne 
Mr. Banning is so changeable-like these last months. 
There's no telling what he'll do. 

Katrine 
She mustn't lose you. 

Anne 
He says she needs a woman about and that he's 
trusting her to me now. 

Katrine 
To you? Yes {Half breaking) — and my arms are 
empty. 

Anne 
He never smiles; even when he's loving her. 



14 POSSESSION 

Katrine 
He loves her? Does he really love her? 

Anne 
(Slowly) 
Yes. If you'll pardon me, Miss Katie, it seems as 
though you both love her more since this took place. 

Katrine 
We both love her: yet the courts gave her to him. 
(Dully) They couldn't understand. 

Anne 
(With a sigh) 
If people don't understand us and they're stronger, 
there's nothing to do but give in to them. 

Katrine 
(Rising impulsively) 
But I have not given in! 

Anne 
Don't we all have to in the end ? 

Katrine 
(With a certain imperative firmness) 
No: not inside — not in our hearts and souls. I'm 
her mother: she's my girl. I'm wasting time. 

Anne 
You're going to see her? 



POSSESSION 15 

Katrine 
Upstairs or here. 

Anne 
But if Mr. Banning should find out? 

Katrine 
He'll never know I saw you. You won't be blamed. 
Send her down here for a book or something. Do 
as I tell you. {Clutching Anne's arm fiercely.) 
Anne, you've known me ever since I was her age. Do 
you think I am not even fit to see her? 

Anne 
No, no. Miss Katie. Only I can't believe it's all 
true — when everything was so nice and comfortable 
here for you. I can't believe it's true. 

(Anne goes upstairs shaking her head.) 

Katrine 
{Half to herself, surveying the room slowly) 
Everything so nice here! {She goes quickly to the 
door, after glancing at the clock which is now pointing 
to five.) A half hour. {A thought strikes her and 
she goes, with suppressed excitement, to the 'phone.) 
Hello? Plaza 4433. {She waits nervously.) Yes, 
Sheldon's? . . . Send me a taxi at once. . . . Ban- 
ning. . . . Yes ... 34 Park. ... At once ... I 
am waiting. 

{As she is 'phoning, PoLLY comes slowly down 
the stairs, not knowing who is talking. Finally 



i6 POSSESSION 

when she reaches the bottom she and her mother 
recognize each other.) 

Katrine 
Polly! 

Polly 
{Rushing eagerly to her arms) 
Mama! Mama! 

(Katrine hugs and kisses her repeatedly for 
some moments as though words could not break 
through her inarticulate emotion.) 

Katrine 
Polly! My little girl! . . . Dearest! 

Polly 
You've come back? 

Katrine 
Yes, yes. 

Polly 
I'm so — so glad ! Don't cry, mama. 

Katrine 
I can't help it, dearest. Ah, you look so well, so 
pretty. You've grown, my darling 

Polly 
I'm so glad you're home again. (Katrine looks 



POSSESSION 17 

down J trying to keep back the tears.) Did you have 
a nice trip ? 

Katrine 
Oh! 

Polly 
Where have you been? 

Jw^TRINE 

{Controlling herself) 

Fve been far away. Didn't your father tell you? 

Polly 
Papa said he'd tell me all about it some day. But 
why didn't you come to tell me about it before you 
went away ? And you didn't kiss me good-by. 

Katrine 
I did kiss you good-by, child. But you were asleep. 

Polly 
Why didn't you wake me up ? 

Katrine 
It's best sometimes not to waken happy children. 

Polly 
But you've come back to stay with us now? 



i8 POSSESSION 

Katrine 
{Evasively) 
You've missed me? 

Polly 
Yes. I've been so lonesome. 

Katrine 
But you had your father. 

Polly 
{With childish mirth) 
Oh, yes; and he's such fun these days. He said he 
must be papa and mama to me while you're away. 
He plays with me every time I ask him now. He was 
always " too busy " before. We sailed boats in the 
bath-tub yesterday and he got his coat all wet. Will 
you sail boats with me? 

Katrine 
Yes. 

Polly 
Papa says he's going to take me on a real boat soon. 

Katrine 
A real boat? 

Polly 
Yes. A boat that goes over the ocean. 



POSSESSION 19 

Katrine 
{Half terrified) 
He's going to take you over the ocean? 

Polly 
Yes. When Spring comes. And we're going to stay 
a long, long while. I told Anne, maybe we were go- 
ing over to find you. But now you've come back, we 
can all go together. {Happily) Won't it be fun? 

Katrine 
{Nonplussed) 
Next month! 

Polly 

I'm getting all my things. Anne's having them made 
for me. And I've got a red hat with a long feather. 
Come, see it. 
( Taking her hand and trying to drag her to the stairs) 

ICatrine 
{Holding her close again) 
He sha'n't take you; he sha'n't. 

Polly 
But, mama, I want to go. 

Katrine 
You want to go? 



20 POSSESSION 

Polly 
Oh! it will be so wonderful. Aren't you glad we'll 
all go together? 

Katrine 
{Drawing her close with suppressed excitement) 
Polly, you do love me, don't you? 

Polly 
Heaps and heaps. 

Katrine 
But you love me more than any one else? 

Polly 
More than any one — except papa and Anne. 

Katrine 

{Impulsively) 

I can't let you go. {Glancing quickly at the clock, 

which has moved on.) Polly! Would you like to 

take a ride in a taxi with me? Just you and me? So 

we may talk? 

Polly 
Won't you wait for papa? Then we can go in his 
car. He'll be so glad to see you. 

Katrine 
But I want a long talk with you first. Won't you 
ccme? 



POSSESSION 21 

Polly 

{Eagerly) 
I'll ask Anne if I can go. 

Katrine 
{Hurt) 
There's no need of asking Anne, if your mother 
wants you. 

Polly 
{Hesitating) 
But papa said I must always ask her. He says there 
are bad people about who want to steal pretty little 
girls like me. 

Katrine 
{Coaxing her) 
I know. But this will be a secret, a secret between 
you and me. 

Polly 
{Entering into the spirit of it) 
A real secret for nobody but us? 

ICatrine 
Yes. 

Polly 

Goodie. 

Katrine 
Get your coat — your warm coat. And don't let 
Anne see you or she'll guess our secret. 



22 POSSESSION 

Polly 
My coat is in the play-room, 'way upstairs. 

Katrine 
Go the back stairs. Hurry. It's getting late. 



Polly 



It's so exciting. 



Katrine 
{As Polly comically tiptoes off in back through the 
dining-room Katrine holds her arms out after her) 
Dare I? You're my child, too; and he's taking 
you 

{As Banning opens the door and enters Ka- 
trine turns. He throws his coat and hat down 
on the chair. They eye each other: he in quiet 
resentment and astonishment at her presence; 
she with a certain subdued nervousness and 
fear, lest Polly should immediately return. 

Howard Banning has already passed forty, 
though the slight tinge of gray about the tem- 
ples and the lines of his face, deepened as they 
have been by great responsibilities, suggest he 
is older. His physique, however, reveals power 
controlled by a will which is indicated in 
his firmly set features. His manner toward 
Katrine is one of assumed coldness, though 
the bitterness and attempted consideration be- 
tray deeply stirred feelings ujiderneath — feel- 



POSSESSION 23 

ings which always sway him in spite of his severe 
schooling in life.) 

Banning 

{Coldly) 
What are you doing here? 

Katrine 
{Controlling herself) 
I came to see Polly. 

Banning 

The courts have decided that question. 

Katrine 
I ask five minutes alone with her. 

Banning 

{Refusing it) 
I am sorry. 

Katrine 
Just five minutes. {He is silent.) She was born 
upstairs. Doesn't all the pain I went through entitle 
me to five minutes — five minutes that you'd give a 
stranger who wished to speak to her on the streets? 

Banning 

You could have remained something else. 

Katrine 
I'm still her mother. 



24 POSSESSION 

Banning 
You have forfeited any rights here. 

Katrine 
But not the right to feel. 

Banning 
That is your punishment. 

Katrine 
Oh, yes: you still believe in punishment. 

Banning 
When one deserves it. 

Katrine 
{As she gazes at him sadly) 
And you dared to judge me! 

Banning 
You offered no defense in court. 

Katrine 
Before the law? No. I had none to give — there. 

Banning 

{Bitterly) 
You were her mother. You should have thought of 
the consequences before you and Mace 



POSSESSION 25 

Katrine 

(Quickly) 

But it was not the mother in me that he caught. 

Banning 

{Sarcastically) 
No : it was my wife. 

Katrine 
{Simply) 
In her loose moments; yes. 

Banning 

Can you say it without shame? 

Katrine 
Yes: I have understanding of myself now. 

Banning 
And that means justification, I suppose? 

Katrine 
I said understanding. Can't you understand my 
suffering and give me just five minutes with Polly? 

Banning 

{Violently clutching her arms) 
Katrine, why did you do this to me? {As he loses 
control of himself.) Why did you make a fool of me? 
Why did you deceive me? Answer! Katrine! 



26 POSSESSION 

Katrine 
{Coldly) 
Please take your hands from me. You forget I 
am no longer your wife. 

(They stare at each other a moment: then his 
hands slip down her arms and he turns away. 
She looks at him and then nervously toward 
the dining-room door where she expects Polly. 
John enters from there as Katrine eyes 
him with quick apprehension.) 

John 
I beg pardon, Mr. Banning: your taxi is here. 

Katrine 
{Involuntarily) 
Ah! 

Banning 

A taxi? What would I want with a taxi? 

John 
{Surprised) 
He said you 'phoned you were in a hurry. 

Banning 
I didn't order any 

Katrine 
/ ordered it. 



POSSESSION 27 

Banning 
{Without suspicion) 
Then say Mrs. Banning will be there in a moment. 
( They wait till John goes out through the 
dining-room. Banning steps quietly before 
Katrine as she now makes a move toward the 
stairs. ) 
Do you completely forget what has happened? 

Katrine 
Could I? 

Banning 

Then does your "understanding" include me? Do 
you understand what you did to me? 



Katrine 



Yes, yes. 



Banning 

{Reproachfully.) 
You deceived me, Katrine. 

Katrine 
Let me go. It is only Polly's mother who is stand- 
ing here. 

Banning 
{Stopping her) 
You should not have forgotten you were a mother. 
{Firmly) Now, please go. I don't want you to 



28 POSSESSION 

see her. It's not easy, I know. I'm sorry. But you 
need have no fear for Polly. Since she can't have a 
mother, she w^ill have everything 

Katrine 
— everything a father can give. I had all a husband 
could give — at least, everything he thought I should 
have. But one thing was wrong from the start be- 
tween us: it's why I am afraid to have her grow up 
here alone with you .and away from me. 

Banning 

(Icily) 
And what, pray, is that? 

Katrine 
It's your attitude toward women, Howard. You 
must change that before you hurt her, as you did me. 
(Polly, with her hat and coat on, comes run- 
ning in excitedly from the dining-room.) 

Polly 
I'm ready, mother. Anne didn't hear me. {She 
sees Banning.) Oh, papa, you've come home, too. 

Banning 

{Stunned) 
Then you have seen Polly? 

Katrine 
{Hugging Polly) 
Yes. 



POSSESSION 29 

Banning 
So! 

Polly 

{Happily) 
Isn't it just lovely, papa, to have mama back again 
to stay? I told him that you'd come back, mama. Oh, 
vi^e both missed her so; didn't we, papa? 

Katrine 
Polly! 

Polly 
It's been so lonely here except when papa plays 
with me. Oh, I'm so happy now. {Kisses her.) 
Aren't you happy, papa, that mama's come home ? 

Banning 

Home! You see, Katrine, what it Is? 

Katrine 
But you at least have had her all this time. 

Polly 
{Whispering to her) 
Shall we tell papa our secret and only keep it from 
Anne? 

PCatrine 
{Silencing her) 
Hush! 

{Pleading with Banning, who gazes at them) 
Just five minutes alone with her, Howard. 

{There is a tense pause. Polly looks from 



30 POSSESSION 

one to the other, not understanding. Finally 
Banning seems to give a silent consent. He 
turns to go up the stairs.) 

Polly 
{Pouting) 
Can't we take papa along in the taxi with us? 

Banning 

{Turning sharply) 
Katrine ! 

Katrine 
{Defensively) 
The child meant 

Banning 
{Taking Polly quickly from her mother) 
The taxi. I see. 

Katrine 

No! 

Banning 
I might have known ! 

Katrine 
{Defiantly) 
Well, why not? 

Banning 

Wliy not? Going to steal her away from me, eh? 



POSSESSION 31 

Katrine 
She's my child, too. 

(Banning laughs harshly.) 

Polly 
(As she looks from one to the other without under- 
standing) 
Why, nobody's going to steal me, papa. I'm only 
going with mama for a ride. 

Banning 

{Calling up the stairs) 
Anne ! Anne ! Come here ! 

Katrine 
(Appealingly) 
Howard ! 

Polly 

What's the matter? 

Banning 

(Brutally) 
Your mother has no right to be here. 

Katrine 
Let me tell her ! 

Banning 

Not now. 



32 POSSESSION 

Katrine 
{Distracted) 
Polly, come to me, dear. 

Banning 

You stay here. 

(Anne enters quickly down the stairs, and 
realizes the situation. Banning immediately 
controls himself before her.) 

Banning 

Anne; take Polly to her room. 

Anne 
Yes, sir. 

Katrine 
{Poignantly) 
No, no. Anne, Anne! 

Polly 
I don't understand. You both want me and 



Banning 
Go with Anne, Polly. I want to talk with your 
mother — alone. 

Polly 
{Protesting) 
But, papa 



POSSESSION 33 

Banning 
That's a good girl. Now, do as I say. 

/ Katrine 

\ {Desperately throughout) 

Have you no pity, Howard? 

Anne 
{Taking Polly's hand) 
Come, dear. 

Katrine 
My arms are empty, Howard — empty. 

Polly 
Mama! 

Banning 
Go with Anne 

Katrine 
{Holding out her arms) 
Polly! Polly! Polly! 

Polly 

But, Anne, why won't papa let me ? 

(Anne gently leads the bewildered child off. 
Katrine and Banning both look after Polly. 
Then Katrine sinks on one of the chests, 
overcome. He turns to her, bitterly.) 



54 POSSESSION 

Banning 
You tried to trick me. {She does not answer except 
with a sob.) Katrine! You tried to trick me! 

Katrine 
Yes. 

Banning 
To steal her away. 

Katrine 
{Pleading) 
Only for a ride with me, at first. But when she 
said you were going abroad for a long while 

Banning 

Where were you going to take her? 

Katrine 
Anywhere. I didn't know. 

Banning 

To give her what? 

Katrine 
A mother's love. 

Banning 

Who robbed her of it? 

Katrine 
I'm here to give it. 



POSSESSION 35 

Banning 



And what else? 



Katrine 
Protection, support, all. 

Banning 

{With a harsh laugh) 
You? 

Katrine 
Yes: if you'll let me. 

Banning 

Let you? And how are you going to do it? With 
Mace's money? 

Katrine 
{Her whole defensive manner changing to one of as- 
sertion) 
With my own money! I'm earning it now — ^work- 
ing. 

Banning 

Working? 

Katrine 
Women do, you know. 

Banning 

{With incredulous sarcasm throughout) 
You earning money? 



36 POSSESSION 

Katrine 
{Abruptly facing him) 
How did you think I would live? 

Banning 

/ offered you money. 

Katrine 
Yes: that was your one human act in all this! But 
I could no longer give j'^ou anything in return. Mace 
offered me money, too. I had nothing further to give 
him. There seems to be only one reason women think 
they can take money from men. 

Banning 
So Mace lets you work? 

Katrine 
{Emphatically) 
He has nothing to do with my actions. 

Banning 

{Astonished) 
Then you're not going to marry him? 

Katrine 
Why should I? 

Banning 
For the sake of your name — if nothing else. 



POSSESSION 37 

Katrine 
Who disgraced my name? 

Banning 

Your own act. 

Katrine 
Which you and the courts spread abroad. But does 
that give you both the further right to keep my child 
from me? 

Banning 

Since you forgot what you owed your husband, every 
right. 

Katrine 
What has her future to do with what I owed you? 
You divorced me, didn't you ? The law no longer com- 
pels you to support me, does it? I have paid the social 
penalty, haven't I? What further do I owe youf 

Banning 

You owe it to me to leave my daughter alone, so 
that she will forget you as I want to. 

Katrine 
But my child loves me. 

Banning 
Children forget — like some women. 



38 POSSESSION 

Katrine 

(Quickly) 

And I should want her to forget me if I were still 

what I was when I lived here with you. But I'll never 

let her forget me now — for now 1 can be a good mother 

to her. 

Banning 

You're absurd — laughable ! As if a woman like you 
could be a good mother after what has happened. 

Katrine 
I can because of what has happened. 

Banning 

It was all of your own making. 

Katrine 
{With directness) 
Are you so sure ? Have you ever asked yourself in- 
side whether it was all my fault? Have you, Howard? 

Banning 
There's nothing to argue. I only know one miser- 
able, rotten fact: the one fact a man never forgets. 

Katrine 
Which thousands of women accept and forget in 
men! {He dismisses it.) A mother has her great fact, 
too: that she bore her child! Has any man ever the 
right to forget that? 



POSSESSION 39 

Banning 

That doesn't excuse what you did to me. 

Katrine 
No. If my fidelity was all you prized me for. 

Banning 

{With feeling) 
You think that was all I ? 

Katrine 
It was all you considered when the test came. You 
thought of nothing else. You turned me out without 
a word. You didn't even ask for an explanation. 

Banning 

{Bitterly) 
What could you have explained? 

Katrine 
Nothing then, perhaps — that's why I didn't try. 
For then I didn't know myself. 

Banning 
But you did know I had given you everything. 

Katrine 
For teas and Tangoes and Bridge and pretty gowns 
and jewels, yes. But what did you give me for my- 
self? 



40 POSSESSION 

Banning 

{Not understanding) 
Yourself ? 

Katrine 
Yes, for me — me/ To do with as / saw fit. 



Banning 

I gave you what every man in my position wants to 
give his wife: leisure; comfort and leisure. 

Katrine 
Yes. And it was leisure which ruined our life to- 
gether. 

Banning 

(Laughing cynically) 
A woman ruined by leisure! 

Katrine 
Leisure! Leisure! Not leisure to use as I wished, 
to use in something I thought worth while, in some- 
thing which differed from your way of looking at 
life. But leisure with you always watching it, curb- 
ing it. 

Banning 

Do you think I had time to bother about how you 
spent your days? 



POSSESSION 41 

Katrine 
(As he walks up and down impatiently) 
You always questioned me. You always disap- 
proved of my actions if they differed from those of our 
idle women friends. You knew exactly what I should 
and should not do. I mustn't do this or that, for fear 
people would talk. Why, do you remember how 
you stormed because I happened to contribute to those 
poor garment strikers the money you had given me to 
waste on Bridge? 

Banning 

(Denying her words throughout) 
I told you then I couldn't have my name in the 
newspapers mixed up with that damn radical stuff. 

Katrine 
That's it. Your name! Now we have it. {He 
faces her.) That's always what I had to consider. 

Banning 

You were my wife. It was your business to con- 
sider me. 

Katrine 

But did I have to make everybody think I believed 
the same as you? Did I have to make all my opinions 
only pale reflections of yours? Couldn't I be myself 
in what I v/as trying to do to escape my boredom 
here, without fearing everybody would criticise you? 
Couldn't I do or say anything for myself because I 
bore your name? 



42 POSSESSION 

Banning 

{Sarcastically) 
And I suppose that was the reason you forgot your 
home? 

Katrine 
With servants to run it. 

Banning 

You had your child. 

Katrine 
Which you insisted our nurses should bring up. 
You didn't even want me to nurse my own child be- 
cause it interfered with — {suddenly) Why, How- 
ard, now that I think of it, you didn't even ask me 
if I wanted to have a child. 

Banning 

{Recoiling and staring at her as though he could not 
grasp how much she has changed) 
Katrine ! 

Katrine 
And what did I know of these matters when you 
brought me here? I didn't know anything of chil- 
dren. I didn't know anything of their health or care 
or education. Nothing. Yet I found myself a mother. 
The greatest thing in life. Yet I was unprepared, 
ignorant. And when I tried to reach out and learn, 
when I wanted instruction and help, when I felt I 



POSSESSION 43 

simply had to be something myself before I could be 
anything to her — you laughed at me. {He protests) 
Oh, you meant it in kindness: you meant it all in kind- 
ness: that's what is so tragic! 

Banning 

{With icy incredulity) 
And you think now I should let you have Polly ? 

Katrine 
Yes ; because I love her more than ever now, and be- 
cause now I am free to learn. {Pleading suddenly 
again) Polly is only a girl, Howard; she'll be a 
woman soon. My heart's longing for her as she grows 
up, so she won't make my mistakes, be ignorant as I 
was when I married. For there are facts about men 
and women you never could tell her with your way 
of thinking about women. Howard, let me be part of 
her life every day as she grows into womanhood. 

Banning 

{Still gazing at her incredulously) 
But you don't seem to realize what you are! 

Katrine 
Yes, I do. But what was I? Do you realize 
that? {He is silent.) What was there for me, here? 
A few hours with you. What for ? Theaters, opera — 
{With sincerity) Howard, what was my life here? 

Banning 
Just what you made it. 



44 POSSESSION 

Katrine 
What you made me make it ; an empty shell of a life 
on silk cushions, bored — ^bored, depressed, careless, and 
useless. You gave me leisure and I made the most 
of it. 

Banning 
With Mace! 

Katrine 
{Wearily) 
Oh; it might have been anybody. 

Banning 

{With bitterness) 
And you think a woman who can say that is fit to 
bring up a young girl? 

Katrine 
{Persuasively, with deep feeling) 
Why not? Because I'm not full of remorse, weep- 
ing away what little strength I have in regrets? Be- 
cause I'm looking forward, not back? Because I'm 
using what happened in the past to lead my future into 
something better? Has my one fault — miserable, des- 
picable, anything the world may call it — has it torn 
out my mother's heart? Haven't you seen it breaking 
here? Do you think I'd have come back here after all 
you put me through, if my motherhood weren't still 
alive? Can your courts and your laws and all the 
sins of the world stamp out that feeling? Can you 
crush out all the good in me, because I've been guilty 
of my one wrong to you? Can you judge me as I 



POSSESSION 45 

stand here, with my eyes open to life for the first time, 
by that — only that — and nothing else? 

Banning 

{Who has been moved by her words) 
God, Katrine! Don't I know you love our child! 

Katrine 
Then let me have her. 

Banning 

You love her: but so do I. 

Katrine 
I know: I know. 

Banning 

{Poignantly) 
If — if it were only to somebody else you were plead- 
ing! But you wronged me — me. Your husband! I 
can't get that out of the way. I can't forget it. — 
You're pleading for yourself. But what about me? 
Because you want her, does that bring back the home 
that is broken up? 

Katrine 
Was it a home? 

Banning 

Must / lose her, too, because you're a woman ? Are 
you going to play on that weakness to gain your end ? 



46 POSSESSION 

Katrine 
We fight with what weapons you men leave us. 

Banning 
You deceived me. You steal into the house now like 
a thief. You try to trick me: yet you stand there 
justifying yourself and your rotten wrong to me, be- 
cause you bore her. Can't a man love his child, too? 

Katrine 
Doesn't that make you understand my love? 

Banning 

{Bitterly throughout) 
But why should I give her up? Why should I 
let her go with you? What about me? What is 
there here for me? She's all there is now. Am I 
going to let you push me aside because you're a 
mother? Any woman can be a mother! You talk as 
though it was something unusual. You think you bear 
the whole responsibilities of a child. You think the 
father's just a — — . Why should I pay for all the 
wreckage that you brought about just because Nature 
happened to make you as it did ? 

Katrine 
Am I not paying it, too? 

Banning 

{Persistently) 
But how are you going to square the account with 
me? 



POSSESSION 47 

Katrine 
Was I alone to blame for our failure? 

Banning 

Answer me. 

Katrine 
{Insistingly) 
Was all the fault mine ? 

Banning 

You're evading my question. 

Katrine 
I want your answer. 

Banning 

( Trying to put conviction in his words) 
Yes; the fault was all yours. 

Katrine 
Howard! If I'd been happy here, would we have 
gone on the rocks? Could any woman have come to 
this alone? 

Banning 
If you'd been a stronger woman 

Katrine 
(Quickly) 
Grant my weakness, then; grant everything I was. 
Shouldn't you have helped me and strengthened me? 



48 POSSESSION 

Banning 

{Confused) 

But 

Katrine 
(Searchingly) 
Howard ! Howard ! Was all the fault mine ? 

Banning 

{He is halted by her tone: he seems to question him- 
self for a moment, then he waves it aside) 
What difference does it make who's to blame when 
a thing's done ? Why talk of blame at this late day, in 
the face of all this wreckage and waste? 

Katrine 
{Quickly) 
Wreckage — ^yes; but whether it is to be waste or 
not rests with us. {He looks at her.) Howard, there 
is good in this — if only you will see it. 

Banning 
Good? Here in this empty house? 

Katrine 
Yes; for you and me. 

Banning 
There can be nothing between you and me. 

Katrine 
There is always Polly! 



POSSESSION 49 

Banning 
Polly! 

Katrine 
Look how much more we both have to give her 
now? 



Banning 



Living apart? 



Katrine 
{With vision) 
Yes: even that way. It's not as it should be, of 
course: but we must build out of the wreckage as 
best we may; and you and I have built better apart 
than we did together. Don't you see how we can go 
on building for Polly? That's where she, too, will 
gain by all this — if we wish it. 

Banning 
( Wearily ) 
I can see no gain. 

Katrine 
But you can see what you call my sin has not broken 
me: you can see I've grown really to love her through 
my need, through my anxiety for her future, through 
everything. Isn't Anne right? Haven't we both 
grown to love Polly more since this happened ? 

Banning 

Anne dared ? 



50 POSSESSION 

Katrine 
But isn't she right ? Was either of us a good parent 
before? What was there in our lives worth handing 
on to Polly? {He starts to answer.) What? Here 
we were: two people: you with your money-making 
and me with my leisure. Did either of us give her 
love? 

Banning 
What / gave was love. 

Katrine 
Like it is now? {Smiling.) Now you play at 
sailing boats in the bath-tub — and you got your coat 
wet! 

Banning 

{Moved) 
She told you that? 

Katrine 
Yes. You never played with her before. Polly 
noticed it. 

Banning 

{Almost inaudibly) 
Poor little kid. 

ICatrine 
Howard, that is the good in all this, if we will 
admit it. Her love didn't hold either of us to very 



POSSESSION 51 

much before — did It? And now we are both stronger 
through our suffering. Yes; better for ourselves — and 
Polly. {She comes close to hifn.) Our marriage is 
over. It was a failure. But we're still her father and 
mother. Must we be enemies fighting over the pos- 
session of our child ? Can't we be friends for her sake ? 



Banning 

Friends? You and me? With this wrong between 
us? 

Katrine 
The wrong was between husband and wife. Polly- 
stands between father and mother. That's all we are 
now, Howard. Father and mother! She's our child: 
born of you and me. She loves us both. Can't we 
both have her till she grows up and leaves us — as 
children do? 

Banning 

Father and mother! 

(Banning rises after a long pause. He has 
been deeply moved, yet he hesitates. Then he 
looks at her as she stands there watching htm 
with a calm serenity. He moves slowly to the 
foot of the stairs. There is a silence,) 

Banning 

( Calling) 
Polly! Polly! 



52 POSSESSION 



Yes, papa. 



Come here. 



In a minute. 



Howard ? 



Polly 
( Upstairs) 



Banning 



Polly 



Katrine 



Banning 

{Turning' to her quietly) 
Was I nothing in your life? 

Katrine 
Oh, yes: Howard. 

Banning 

Then why did it all happen? 

Katrine 
Maybe you came into my life too early to stay all 
through. I was a girl. How could I know? 

Banning 

{Lowering his head) 
I thought I was a good husband, as men go. 



POSSESSION 53 

Katrine 
You would have made some woman very happy. I 
suppose down deep, Howard, I didn't only want to be 
taken care of like lots of women we know. 

Banning 
Maybe it's an old, old story, after all. 

Katrine 
Yes: the world is full of old stories. 

Banning 
{With difficulty) 
I love Polly, Katrine; but 

Katrine 
You think I have some claim? 

Banning 
We will let Polly decide which one she will go with. 

Katrine 
{Quickly) 
No! 

Banning 

Are you afraid? 

Katrine 
It would be cruel of us to shift the decision on 
her. 



54 POSSESSION 

Banning 

But it's her life. 

Katrine 
Suppose she chooses me? 

Banning 

Fin willing to take that risk. 

Katrine 
{Startled) 
You think she might not come with me? 

Banning 

That's what we must find out. {Calling.) Polly! 

Katrine 
Oh, you'd let me see her, wouldn't you? You'd let 
me hold her in my arms? 

Banning 

And if she went with you? 

Katrine 
I should always want her to hold her father's hand. 
I don't want her to lose either of us. All I ask is to 
let me see her now and then; let me have her part of 
the time. 

Banning 
It can't be that way. She — she must decide! 



POSSESSION 55 

Katrine 
No, no! My love is greater than that. You've 
broken me, Howard. Rather than submit her to that, I 
give in. You have the powder here. The courts have 
given her to you. And w^e've got to submit, as Anne 
says, if the stronger can't understand us. Do w^hat 
your heart says, How^ard. I only ask you to be bigger 
than the lavv^. 

(Polly comes down the steps slowly and 
stands there puzzled for a moment, between the 
two, who gaze at her. Then she goes quietly to 
Banning.) 

Polly 
You called me, papa? 

Banning 
{With an effort throughout as he strokes her hair and 
holds her hand) 
Your mother has come back from a long journey 
and — she v^ants you to go with her. 

Polly 
Hasn't mama come back home for good? 

Banning 
Polly, it's this way; I 

Katrine 
I'll tell her, Howard. 



56 POSSESSION 

Banning 
I couldn't tell her everything. 

Katrine 
{Calmly) 
She shall know everything in time. And I shall be 
fair to you, 

Polly 
(Puzzled) 
Papa, I wish you'd tell me what it means. 

Banning 
{Half breaking, as he sits with his face buried in his 

hands) 
I don't know what it means — I don't know. 

Polly 
Do you, mama? 

Katrine 
Sometimes I know. But not for very long, dear. 
(Katrine crosses to Banning and puts her 
hand tenderly on his shoulder, but he rises and 
moves away from her gently as she withdraws 
her hand.) 

Banning 
{Recovering his self-possession) 
To-morrow your mother will come to you, Polly, 
and you're to go with her for a while. 



POSSESSION 57 

Katrine 
(Overwhelmed) 



Howard ! 



Polly 
Am I going to live in two places? 

Katrine 

(Hugging her) 
Yes; in both our hearts. 

(Banning has pressed the push-button, John 
enters from back.) 



Is the taxi there? 



Yes, sir. 



Banning 



John 



Banning 
Mrs. Banning is ready now. 

(John crosses to door which he opens, and 
stands there waiting. Katrine looks at Ban- 
ning as his back is turned. Then she kisses 
Polly.) 

Katrine 
To-morrow, Polly. 

(Katrine goes to the chest on which she has 
left her bag, containing the door-key. She 
takes thisj decides to keep the key, turns and 



58 POSSESSION 

looks back at Banning, who is now facing 

her.) 
Thank you, Howard. (She hesitates^ tries to say some- 
thing but sees the futility) Good-by, We may need to 
talk to each other again. 

Banning 
About what? 

Katrine 
About Polly. 

(Katrine goes out. John closes the door and 
goes off in hack. Banning sinks into the chair 
again, staring before him.) 

Polly 
Papa; why must I live in two places? 

{She goes to him but he does not answer.) 

[the curtain falls] 



THE GROOVE 



THE PEOPLE 

Sarah Greenwell 
Constance, her younger sister 

SCENE 

A bedroom at the Greenwells' cottage in a small 
village, late one June night. 



THE GROOVE* 

A COZY bedroom in a little cottage is disclosed. 

A'W It is quaintly furnished. An old wooden bed is 
-^ •*• at the left projecting from the wall: directly 
against the opposite wall is a small dressing-table with a 
dainty flowered covering. Above this hangs a mirror 
reflecting the two candles now lighted, which are rest- 
ing amidst the toilet articles. Beyond this there is a 
broad window through which the moonlight is now 
streaming. In back a doorway opens into another 
room. At the foot of the bed is a steamer-trunk full 
of clothes, with its lid open. On the other side of the 
bed in back is a large wardrobe. There are some 
chairs, a what-not, and several old-fashioned pictures 
on the quietly papered walls; but the room is otherwise 
scantily furnished. It has, however, the air of unpre- 
tentious comfort. 

Constance is alone. She is about twenty-two, with 
abundant beauty and an entrancing charm. She is 
full of vitality, flexible in mood, with the occasional 
authority of approaching womanhood; but she is es- 
sentially youth — with its mingling of unconscious self- 
ishness and spasmodic consideration. 

She has just put on her kimono over her night-gown. 
As she hums happily she takes down her hair. She 

* Copyright, 19 14, by George Middleton. All rights reserved. 



62 THE GROOVE 

stops J after a moment ^ puts her bare feet into her pretty 
tuffed slippers, goes to the trunks lifts the tray and takes 
out a daintily framed photograph. Looking at it half 
dreamily she slowly crosses to the dressing-table, plac- 
ing it between the two candles, whose light reveals 
the photograph of a young man. She kisses it but 
turns its face down quickly so it cant be seen as she 
hears the door in back open. Sarah, her sister, enters, 

Sarah is ten years older: very plain so far as ex- 
ternals go; rather a quiet personality, in fact, though 
colored subtly by her humor and generous sympathies. 
Her hair is down in long braids and she, too, wears her 
kimono and bedroom slippers. 

Throughout there is a sense of deep personal in- 
timacy brooding over the two as they talk with subdued 
voices, fearing to disturb their mother in the next room, 

Sarah 
(Softly closing the door) 
Mother's asleep now. 

Constance 
I thought you were never coming. 

Sarah 
It's been such an exciting day for her: having you 
come home and all. {Going to her.) . You must be 
tired, too. 

Constance 
(Feeling the back of her head) 
I am. I'm all in a knot back here. 



THE GROOVE 63 

Sarah 



Let me rub it. 



Constance 
(As Sarah rubs her neck) 
Um! I could purr like a pussy cat. What won- 
derful fingers you have, sister ! 

Sarah 
I do this to mother every time she has one of her bad 
headaches. She's grown to depend on it. 

Constance 
Dear little mother. 

Sarah 
(Slipping her arms close down and kissing her) 
Dear little sister. 

Constance 
I've looked forward so to this hour alone with you. 

Sarah * 
We haven't had many these last four years, have we ? 

Constance 
No. (As Sarah stops rubbing and turns her 
around.) That's so relaxing. 

Sarah 
Let me look at you, dear. 



64 THE GROOVE 

Constance 
{Playfully taking hold of Sarah* s braids) 
Wouldn't it be lovely if we could always wear our 
hair down like this? 

Sarah 

Why? 

Constance 
We both look so much prettier. 

Sarah 
I didn't know I could be improved upon. 

Constance 
Oh, yes, you can. {They both laugh) I mean 



Sarah 
All the good looks went to you, didn't they ? ( Con- 
stance smiles.) Mother says John would have been 
a handsome man if he'd lived. 

Constance 
I should like to have had a real brother. 

Sarah 
Instead of so many volunteers? 

Constance 
Well, I couldn't help it if the boys liked me. 



THE GROOVE 65 

Sarah 
Of course not. You are all unpacked ? 

(Sarah goes to trunk and unpacks it during 
this, hanging the things at intervals in the 
wardrobe, Constance combs and braids her 
hair,) 

Constance 
Now, don't you worry about that trunk. 

Sarah 
But your pretty dresses will all get wrinkled. 

Constance 
(Playfully) 
You are beginning to take charge of me again. 

Sarah 
You see I haven't changed since you last saw me. 

Constance 
A year can't change a fellow much. 

Sarah 
It's made you more beautiful, Con. 

Constance 
{Glancing covertly toward the photograph) 

That's because 

Sarah 
Because you're a woman now. My little sister's a 
woman ! 



66 THE GROOVE 

Constance 
{Thoughtfully) 
Yes; in some ways only — only — I haven't entirely 
said good-by to the little sister. {Impulsively) Is 
everything the same here? 

Sarah 
Just the same. {Holding up a skirt.) Goodness, 
that needs a new braid. 

(Constance pays no attention to the clothes 
as she ties small pink ribbons to her braids, look- 
ing now and then in the mirror.) 

Constance 
Mother's well, isn't she? 

Sarah 
Yes; she sleeps so much better, too. 

Constance 
What does she do all day? 

Sarah 
Oh, the days pass somehow. 

Constance 
Does she still keep up her church work? 

Sarah 
That's the only social life we have here. 



THE GROOVE 67 

Constance 
Any other excitement in the village? 

Sarah 
We've got a new minister. 

Constance 

Good looking? 

Sarah 
Yes, but fifty. 

Constance 

Interesting ? 

Sarah 
Mother likes him. 

Constance 

{Turning abruptly to Sarah) 

Sister, you Ve had awful tough luck with men. 

Sarah 
{Laughing and taking it good-naturedly throughout) 
Absent treatment, you mean? 

Constance 
Don't you find it terribly unsatisfactory? 

(Sarah zvaves it aside, but Constance per- 
sists tuith a certain hidden curiosity.) 
Sarah, haven't j^ou ever thought of getting married? 



68 THE GROOVE 

Sarah 
I've got imagination, Con, and lots of time to think. 

Constance 
Well, why don't you get married? 

Sarah 
( Casually ) 
For the simplest reason in the world: nobody has 
asked me. 

Constance 
Have you encouraged them? 

Sarah 
{Simply) 
Nobody's ever been in love with me, Con. 

Constance 
Haven't you ever been in love, either? 

Sarah 
No. 

Constance 
{Amazed) 
And you don't seem a bit sorry? 

Sarah 
I hate people who pity themselves. Maybe I'm not 
the marrying sort. 



V 



£> 



THE GROOVE 69 

Constance 
You'd make the best wife in the world. You love 
to take care of people. 

Sarah 
(Smiling) 
Is that all a wife's for? 

Constance 
(Wisely) 
Lots of men seem to think so. (With a sigh) 
Maybe you're too good to be married. 

Sarah 
(Coining to her and tweaking her good-naturedly) 
Maybe the reason I've had no chance to marry is 
because I have such an attractive little sister. 

Constance 
(Mischievously ) 
Did you send me away to college to avoid the com- 
petition ? 

Sarah 
I didn't succeed very well, did I? 

Constance 
(Seriously) 
Sarah, don't you ever get tired of it here? Don't 
you ever feel like some excitement? 



70 THE GROOVE 

Sarah 
{Evasively) 
You forget we have a new minister. 

Constance 
Oh, be serious, sister. You're in outrageously good 
spirits to-night. You're jesting about the most sacred 
matters. {With enthusiasm) Don't you ever want 
something thrilling to happen, something that gives 
you a prickly sensation right down to the toes? 

Sarah 
That's why I am so happy to-night. 

{After a moment's instinctive hesitationy as 
Constance leans forward^ waiting' eagerly, 
Sarah steps towards her mother s door, listens, 
and then comes close to her sister.) 
What would you say if I told you / am going to have 
an adventure? 

Constance 
Who is he? 

Sarah 
It isn't a man: it's a trip. 

Constance 
A trip? Go on, I'm crazy to know. {Shaking 
her.) Go on — go on. 

. Sarah 
I've made all the preparations. I've told no one. 



THE GROOVE 71 

I've only been waiting for you to come back home so 
you can take my place here with mother. 

(Constance immediately drops all her banter 
and gives Sarah a frightenedj questioning 
look.) 
Oh, it isn't so dreadful, Con ; don't be frightened. 

Constance 
{Slowly) 
How could anybody take your place with mother? 

Sarah 
You could and only you. {Smiling.) It will be a 
change for mother to talk to a college graduate. 

Constance 
{Dubiously) 
Mother's a dear, but it doesn't need a college educa- 
tion to talk to her. 

Sarah 
{Laughing) 
Yet think of all the new subjects she can discuss 
while I'm away, 

Constance 
{Hardly grasping it) 
You're really going away? 

Sarah 
Yes. Does it surprise youv so? 



72 


THE GROOVE 




Constance 


Sort of. 





Sarah 
{With naive enthusiasm throughout) 
It did me, too. But you get used to a surprise when 
you think and plan over it for a year. 

Constance 
{As she fingers the photograph in thought) 
Sarah, I can't seem to think of you away from here. 

Sarah 
I'm part of the landscape, eh? 

Constance 
Yes. The reliable oak mother's clinging to. 

Sarah v^ & ^ 

I felt kind of timid myself at first. 

Constance 
{Looking at her) 
Why, you're blushing now, Sarah. You're all ex- 
cited. 

Sarah 
It thrills nie down to the toes, as jou said. 

Constance 
What are you going to do? 



THE GROOVE 73 

Sarah 
{With delight) 
Fnj going to N.ew York to study nursing! 

Constance 
{Disappointed) 
You call that an adventure? 

Sarah 
{Happily) 
It. seems like it to me. 

Constance 
But couldn't you learn nursing here? 

Sarah 
I've read all the books Icould get, but the only place 
to really learn is' in a hospital. 

Constance 
Ugh! I hate the thought of it. 

Sarah 
{With suppressed excitement.) 
It's the one thing I think I can do ; so v^hen I made 
up my mind I made inquiries. My ! how I ^trembled 
over that fir-st letter! I felt so daring and reckless. 
The money question bothered me at first, as I didn't 
want to touch our little income. But to-day — on the 
same train, that you came — there was a letter from the 
Nurses' Settlement in New York. They told me 



74 THE GROOVE 

there's a place open where I can study and, by taking 
charge of some children in the district, I can pay my 
oWn way. {Glowing) Thifik of that! 

Constance 
{With a hidden thought) 
When are you going? 

Sarah 
They'll hold it open two weeks. Pm going to write 
them to-night that I'll be there the fourteenth. That 
will be giving you and me a chance for a visit togetlier 
first. 

Constance 
{Eyeing her closely) 
Sarah, have you told me the real reason you want 
to go? 

Sarah 
{Frankly) 
Why, yes, dear. 

Constance 
There's no man you want to get away from? 

Sarah 
{Laughing) 
Nonsense ; you've got men on the brain. Men don't 
supply all the romance in the world, silly ! This is^ my 
romance — just like religion is to mother. It's my ad- 
venture — my — I was going to say — my flight. 



THE GROOVE 75 

Constance 
(Slowly) 

You're doing it because you think every woman 
ought to have a job ? 

Sarah 
(Taking her hands and speaking with great simplicity) 

No, no j nothing like that. It's a personal feeling. I ' 
suppose what I need is a change — something complete 
for a while. I'm in a groove, Con, and I've been going 
along in it for years. Most of the women here are 
living in grooves, too; only they don't know it. 
Mother is: she's so comfortable in hers; she simply 
couldn't stand having a change; it would upset her 
beyond words. Lots of them are like mother. It's so 
easy to slip along year after year in your own particu- 
lar groove. It has its ups and downs, of course; but 
it's there just the same. I've noticed some of the 
grooves are all.re^dy for us; our fathers and mothers 
crease them out and we follow right along. Some of 
us make them ourselves — maybe I have: like the ani- 
mals in the ground that haye their little runways over 
w^hich they go day after day. After a while you think / ^ ^ 
of it as. part of your life : something you do mechani- 
cally because you've always done it. (Sweetly) Well, 
I thought I'd like to get out of my comfortable little 
groove to see what it would be like. So I made up my 
mind I'd try it for a year at least. 

Constance 
(Startled) 
A year! 



76 THE GROOVE 

Sarah 
Yes; maybe I won't last that long. Some of those 
who've left come back: the groove is so much easier. 
But in a year, with what I know now, I'll be a well- 
qualified nurse and — {Tenderly) — maybe perhaps 
you'll want to be getting married by then and go away 
— {As Constance turns aside) What is it. Con? ^ d ^ 
Con, I do want you to be married some day. What is 
it, dear? Aren't you glad I told you about my going? 

Constance 
{Restrcnned) 
Have you told mother ? 

Sarah 
Not yet. 

Constance 
Why? 

Sarah 
I thought it would be easier for mother when she 
had you already here with her. 

Constance 
One of us must stay? 

Sarah 
{Simply) 
Of course. We're all she has. 

(Constance eyes the photograph again, 
while Sarah looks toward her mother s door 



THE GROOVE 77 

as though listening to hear a sound. There is 
a pause.) 

Constance 
{Quietly) 
I'm SO' glad you told me, sister. You ought to have 
it. I don't see how you've stood it all these years. 

Sarah 
I have not been unhappy : only I need a change. 

Constance 
Is that all you call it? 

Sarah 
I said it was my romance, Sut I've waited a long 
while. (Constance lowers her eyes.) What is it, 
Con? Say it, dear. 

Constance 
{Softly) 
Mine has come quicker. 

Sarah 
Your what? 

Constance 

My — my romance. 

Sarah 
YouVe always had romance. You're beautiful. 



78 THE GROOVE 

Constance 
I mean the real one. 

Sarah 
{Beginning to understand) 
The real one? 

Constance 

Yes. 

{She hesitates and then slowly gives the photo- 
graph to Sarah, who gazes at it quietly.) 

Sarah 
In love? (Constance nods quickly.) Oh, I've 
been talking about myself and not- about you. And '/'"' 
you had this to -show me. 

Constance 
{In spite of herself) 
Do you like him? 

Sarah 
Yes. But I suppose it flatters him. 

Constance 
{Emphatically) 
Not a bit. 

Sarah 
Is he tall? 

Constance 
Over six feet. 



THE GROOVE 79 

Sarah 
You always liked tall boys. 

Constance 
When I could get them. There's so much more to 
love. 

Sarah 
And they all were fond of you. 

Constance 
{In good spirits agdn, and no longer thinking of 

Sarah) 
Not the way Paul is. 

Sarah 
Paul? 

Constance 
{Glowing) 
Paul Lamar. Isn't it a lovely name? He is the 
most wonderful man I've ever met! He's strong and 
brilliant and 

Sarah 
Yes, yes. 

Constance 
He's a civil engineer, like his father. I've known 
him all winter and we've seen each other every day. He 
asked me yesterday if — if I would marry him. 



8o THE GROOVE 

Sarah 
Marry him? 

{There is a long silence. Then Sarah^ more 
serious, lifts Constance's head and gazes into 
her eyes.) 

Constance 
I love him, sister, I love him. 

Sarah 
{Slowly) 
I believe you do. 

Constance 
I couldn't write about it till it happened for sure. 

Sarah 
y {Simply) 

^ It must be nice to be loved. 

Constance 
It is. 

Sarah 
But we mustn't be sad about it. YouVe been in 
love before. 

Constance 
{Half peevishly) 
I hate to think of that. Besides, I was young. You 
said yourself I'm a woman now. I've never been in 
love before: honestly, sis, never really before. 



THE GROOVE 8i 

Sarah 
I'm not blaming you. (6'//// gazing at photograph.) 
Only I want you to be. sure of yourself. 

Constance 
I am sure this time — ^very sure. 

Sarah 
/ {Cheerfully) 

\yThen we must have him down for a visit. 

Constance 
You want to look him over? 

Sarah 
{Laughing) 
Yes. Could he conie now?' 

Constance 
He said he'd hang on the mail-box. 

Sarah 
We'll wire him to-morrow. 

{She gives back the photograph to Constance, 
who places it on the table.) 
I certainly want him down before I go away. 

Constance 
{Troubled) 
Before you go? 



82 THE GROOVE 

Sarah 
My being here will help mother get used to him. 
And then he can come down every once in a while to 
visit you. When I come back you'll know for sure 
if your heart has made no mistake. 

Constance 
{Half desperately) 
I tell you I'm sure now. 

/ Sarah 

You should give it time. 

Constance 
{Involuntarily) 
You don't know what it is to wait. You've never 
been in love. 

Sarah 
{Simply) 
I know what it is to wait. 

Constance 
Forgive me, Sarah. 

Sarah 

{Taking her hands again affectionately) 

I haven't had much experience, Con; but I'm your 

older sister. I've sort of watched without taking part 

in what goes on. There's love and hate and sorrow 

here in this little place just like everywhere else. 



THE GROOVE 83 

That's " the ups and downs" Ispoke of. And people 
make mistakes. I want thje best there is for you: a 
home, cbfflfgn, and a full life. 

Constance 
Is there any way of knowing beforehand except by 
what you feel ? 

Sarah 
Feelings are real but not always right. There's no 
other way of knowing. And people always mean to 
make their marriage happy. If things go dead wrong 
afterwards, they can ht fixed -up. . (Impressively) But 
don't forget, Con, you never can fix up a. marriage that 
isn't just quite right. That was mother's marriage, 
you know. 

Constance 
(After a long, thoughtful pause) 
A year's a long while when you're young. 

Sarah 
The years become longer as you- grow older — less 
happens. (Persuasively) So don't be impatient, little 
sister. Remember I want you to be happy that way 
above all else. So wait till I come back. 

Constance 
(With difficulty) 
Sarah, I haven't told you everything. His father has 
a government contract to build a huge viaduct in 



84 THE GROOVE 

Brazil. He has offered Paul a chance with him out 
there. It's a great opportunity. He's so ambitious. 

Sarah 
He's going? 

Constance 
Yes. 

Sarah 
When does he go? 

Constance 
In two months. 

Sarah 
For how long? 

Constance 
(Slowly) 
Three years. 

Sarah 
(After a pause, as though afraid to ask) 
And he has asked you -to go with him ? 

Constance 
Yes. 

Sarah 
You told him you'd go? 



THE GROOVE 85 

Constance 
I said I would write him after I saw you and mother. 

Sarah 
{Very quietly) 
You want to go? 

Constance 
I love him. 

{In the silence that follows Sarah sits mo- 
tionless, though her eyes have flashed for a 
moment with instinctive rebellion which Con- 
stance detects.) 
I didn't know about you and your plan to go away. 

Sarah 
{Almost inaudibly) 
The groove! 

Constance 
{Kneeling beside her and burying her head in Sarah's 

lap) 
No, no, Sarah, I won't accept it — I v/on't. I've 
always taken everything from you. I won't take this. 
I'll stay — I'll wait. 

(Sarah looks at her and runs her hand lovingly 
over Constance's hair in obvious appreciation 
of this impulse.) 

Sarah 
Let me think a moment. 



86 THE GROOVE 

Constance 
I know all it means. You've counted on it so and — 
Oh, why isn't mother different! 

Sarah 
We must accept people as they are. ^ 

Constance 
If she only had a life of her own; something to 
occupy it — some work! She's well — she's able 

Sarah 
She feels she's done her duty having us. ^ 

Constance 
(Rebelliously) 
If I ever have a child, I hope I won't feel it must 
sacrifice for me. 

Sarah 
Yes, you will: if you're like mother — dependent, 
with nothing but her home and her children, since- 
father died. 

Constance 
It isn't right. (Quickly) Can't you go anyway f 
Have somebody come here in your place? Write Cou- 
sin Sally or — oh, Sarah; tell mother about it. She'll 
understand. Tell her how you've counted on it. Let 
me tell her; let me remind her how you've stayed here 
with her, year after year 



THE GROOVE 87 

Sarah 
Hush! She'll hear you. 

Constance 
I want her to know. 

Sarah 

{With quiet firmness) 

Suppose she didnt understand ? Gould we take that . 

risk, of' hurting her? (Constance bows her head.) 

ItVwhat she feels — that is all we have to go by. She's 

often said she gave her youth to us. . 

Constance 
{Bitterly) 
And you have given yours to her in return. 

Sarah 
I've done it willingly. One is enough. Mine is 
nearly gone. {With resolution) You sha'n't give 
^yours, Con. > y ^ u 

Constance 
But I won't accept it. 

Sarah 
{Smiling) 
Yes, you will. Youth does. 

Constance 
You didn't. 



88 THE GROOVE 

Sarah 
No one else had a claim on me. Somebody loves 
you. 

Constance 

(With less persistency) 
But, sister, he'll understand. 

Sarah 
Don't you know me well enough to see that I 
couldn't let my- foolish little plan stand between you 
and him? 

Constance 
I'd blame myself every day — every hour. 

Sarah 
What for. Con? Because life has brought you some- 
thing you didn't seek? Something that makes life? 
It isn't anybody's fault ; unless it is mine in m.aking- 
you go away. 

Constance 
It wouldn't have happened if I'd stayed here like 
other girls. Why did you make me go ? 

Sarah 
Because I noticed in' our garden that the seeds which 
fell from a plant never grew up if they took root in 
the shade of its own leaves. That's why the wind 
scatters them out into free soil. 



THE GROOVE 89 

Constance 
(Slowly) 
Yet see what has happened. 

Sarah 

(Patting her hand) 

But it has happened. So let's look it in the face. 

Constance 
It seems all twisted and wrong. 

Sarah 
I made one mistake, Con; it only just dawned on 
me. I forgot you could never be contented here when 
you finally did come back. It must be a small place 
here after you've had a glimpse of the world. 

Constance 
Oh, Sarah, it is a small place. 

Sarah 
(Smiling) 
When your heart yearns for Brazil. ' 

Constance 
I love you, too, sister; very, very much. 

Sarah 
But you don't need me to- make you happy. (Con- 
stance protests.) No.; you don't. Yet I can. always 
keep in your heart far away in. the corner where you 



90 THE GROOVE 

can come to me if ever you need me. And you will 
cbme if- — ? (Constance kisses her hand in acquies- 
cence.) So you must go with him, if you are sure." 

» 

Constance 
But I -hate to think of you slipping back into the 
groove ? 

Sarah 

{Cheerfully) 
See here, little sister. I don't want you to spoil any 
of your own joy thinking of me like that. People can 
make choices ; they can go or they can stay if they 
wish ; and when they make their choice they shouldn't 
rebel at what they haven't taken. Now I feel I must 
stay here with mother. I've had my foolish dream 
and — and sometime far off— I may. dream of doing 
it again. But I ^ must stay here now. . ^ 

Constance 
Oh, Sarah! 

Sarah 
There's no arguing that in my heart. You see, I'm 
not pitying myself or being sorry, Con. For a. mo- 
ment, it did seem to put out the light. But I'v€ been 
looking at.it too steadily and it- hid the other objects. 
So promise me you'll be happy about me. 

Constance 
Can't I do anything? 



THE GROOVE gi 

Sarah 
{With the intensity of profound conviction) 
Yes. Don't you ever let your life slip into a groove! 
(Constance sits deeply impressed by the 
thought. After a long pause Sarah rises and 
goes to the dressing-table.) 
I forgot to fill your lamp. ■ 

{She sees the photography picks it up, looks at 
it wonderingly, and then puts it down silently. 
Then she blows out one of the candles, crosses 
and pulls down the bed-covers which are flooded 
by the soft moonlight.) 
You must go to bed. You're tired. 

Constance 
I'm not sleepy. 

Sarah 
I want to see you in. bed before Lgo. 

Constance 
Won't you tuck up with me like v^^e used to? 

Sarah 
We'd talk ; and you must get your rest. Come. 

Constance 
{Rising and going to Sarah) 
Oh, sister ! 



92 THE GROOVE 

Sarah 
{Impulsively throwing her arms about her and then 
holding her at arms' length while speaking earnestly) 
We women must learn to see- clearly. All the 
women I know mix their feelings with the facts.. 

Constance 
You're the finest sister in the world. 

Sarah 
Nonsense, dear; I'm the only one you have. {She 
slips off Constance's wrapper.) Come! 

Constance 
{As she slowly gets into the bed) 
But I'm not sleepy. 

Sarah 
{As she pulls up the covers) 
Does the moonlight bather you ? 

Constance 
No. 

Sarah 
I've left a blanket here. It gets chilly toward morn- 
ing. Good-night, little woman. 

Constance 
Good-night. 

(Sarah leans over and kisses her, then moves 
her hands over her forehead several times as 



THE GROOVE 93 

though quieting her. She lingers a moment 
and then moves slowly to the table. As she 
lifts the lighted candle she catches a glimpse of 
her own tired face in the mirror. She is startled 
for a moment, then turns slowly away, carrying 
the candle toward the door.) 
Sarah ? 

Sarah 
Yes? 

Constance 
Do you think there are any grooves in Brazil ? 

(Sarah smiles zuisely and goes out into their 
mother s room, closing the door quietly.) 

[curtain falls slowly] 



A GOOD WOMAN 



THE PEOPLE 

Cora Warren. 

Hal Merrill, a magazine writer, 

SCENE 
At Cora Warren s flat. A large city in New York 
State, Late one winter evening. 



A GOOD WOMAN* 

Jt SMALL room in what is a modest hut corn- 
el fortable flat, up several flights of stairs. In 
■^ "^ backj a door opens on the landing. A snow- 
lined window may be seen at the right through the 
pretty lace curtains. Opposite this a door leads off into 
the other rooms. The furnishings are simple but ade- 
quate; wicker chairs, a couch, a small table, carefully 
selected pictures, some book-shelves, and a large warm 
rug upon the hardwood floor are conspicuous. A house 
telephone is on the left wall near the door. There is 
something seclusive, personal, and intimate about the 
little room, softly lighted by several shaded wicker- 
lamps which blend in color with the one-toned pat- 
ternless wall-paper. 

Outside the wind is heard howling as it drives the 
snow and sleet against the window. After some mo- 
ments, a bell is heard. Cora Warren enters quickly 
and opens the outer door, admitting Hal Merrill. 
She closes the door and kisses him. 

Cora Warren is a woman of thirty, full of rich 
feeling, sensitive, impulsive, yet withal clear-visioned 
and courageous. There is every mark of refinement, 
culture, and distinction in her speech, with nothing 
exotic or abnormal in her manner. She is in a pretty 
negligee. 

* Copyright/ 1914, by George Middlcton. All rights reserved. 



98 A GOOD WOMAN 

Hal Merrill is older, beginning to settle, in fact, 
but full of mental and physical vigor, in spite of fea- 
tures which, when relaxed, betray a certain careworn 
expression. He, too, is evidently well-born, and has 
had, no doubt, many advantages. His heavy over- 
coat, rubbers, and soft felt hat are wet with the snow, 

Cora 
I'm so glad you've come. Why, you're all wet. 

Hal 

{Taking off his overcoat) 
I walked uptown. 

Cora 
{Playfully admonishing him throughout) 
In this storm? And you knew I was waiting? 

Hal 

You are always waiting. 

Cora 
You'll get your death, dear. Give me the coat. I'll 
hang It over a chair before the gas stove. And your 
feet — my — my I Soaked ? 

Hal 

No, rubbers. 

Cora 
So you did mind me and wear them. 



A GOOD WOMAN 99 

Hal 
Yes. (Kicking them off.) 

Cora 
You must take more care of yourself. What would 
I do if you were ill ? You should have ridden. 

Hal 

It clears your thoughts to walk with the snow beat- 
ing in your face. 

Cora 

{Detecting a hidden meaning) 
Hal? 

Hal 

It's good to be here with you again, Cora. 

Cora 
(Cheerfully again) 
Yes: it's been so long since yesterday. {They 
laugh.) Now sit down and rest. I've a hot toddy all 
ready for you. 

Hal 

Just what I wanted. 

Cora 
Here's your pipe — old and strong as ever. Did 
you forget the tobacco? 



100 A GOOD WOMAN 

Hal 

No. {Taking the pipe.) You always make it seem 
like home, dearest. 

Cora 
{Hurt) 
"Seem"? 

Hal 

{Holding her hand during a slight pause) 
You know what I mean. 

Cora 
{As she strikes a match and lights the pipe which he 

has filled) 
How worn and tired you are, dear. I'll be glad 
when this lawsuit is over. Just relax. Let go. {She 
kisses him.) Dearest. 

(Cora takes up the coat and rubbers, going 
out quickly in back. 

Hal stops smoking, the smile disappears, and 
his head lowers, as he seems overcome with the 
mood he has been trying to fight back. 

Cora comes in unobserved luith the toddy* 
She looks at him, shakes her head and then 
comes, placing her hand on his arm. He starts 
up from his reverie.) 
What is it, Hal? 

Hal 

Nothing. 



A GOOD WOMAN loi 

Cora 
(Not believing him) 
Take this, dear. 

Hal 

Thanks. (He sips it.) Um! it's hot, Cora. Just 
the right amount of sugar, too. 

(Cora watches him questioningly as he sips it 
slowly. She picks up a couple of sofa cushions 
and comes over to him, placing them by him, on 
the floor. She sits on them, waiting for him to 
speak.) 

Hal 
That tastes good. 

Cora 
You're sure you didn't get chilled? 

Hal 
I walked rapidly. 

Cora 
Did anything go wrong with the case? 

Hal 

{Patting her) 
What makes you think that? 

Cora 

Something's worrying you. 



102 A GOOD WOMAN 

Hal 

Something did: but it's all settled now. 

Cora 
So that*s why you walked in the storm? 

Hal 
Yes. 

Cora 
Vm glad It's settled; only I should like to have 
helped settle it. 

Hal 
Cora? 

Cora 
(She turns and looks up into his face) 
Yes? 

Hal / 

I wonder how great a test your love for me would 
stand ? 

Cora 
Could I have given more? 

Hal 
There is something more I must ask. 

Cora 
{Puzzled) 
Something more? Tell me, Hal. 



A GOOD WOMAN 103 

Hal 

{Holding her head between his hands) 
Is your love strong enough to accept a silence ? 

Cora 
Aren't there silent places in every love? 

Hal 

{With some slight hesitation) 
I mean if — if I should do something which I thought 
best not to explain. 

Cora 
{Simply) 
I should accept everything so long as you were honest 
with me. Only 

Hal 
Only what, dear? 

Cora 
{Thoughtfully) 
Silence itself is not always honest. 

Hal 

In this particular matter will you let me be the 
judge of that ? 

Cora 
A woman In my position must accept. 



104 A GOOD WOMAN 

Hal 

Cora! 

Cora 
(Quickly) 
Oh, I didn't mean that, Hal ; that was unworthy of 
me. 

Hal 
You know how I love you. 

Cora 
Yes, yes, dear. Of course I know. I am ashamed 
of nothing. I'm proud of all we have here in the 
quiet. But the snow beating against the window has 
been reminding me all day of the world outside. 

Hal 

The snow is so free! 

Cora 
Yes; and you and I are bound by secrecy. That's 
what hurts: the secrecy. 

Hal 

(Stroking her hair) 
If you could only be my wife. 

Cora 
(Smiling) 
Just for the freedom it would give me to share 
everything in the open with you. That's all. Just 
for the freedom we can't have now. 



A GOOD WOMAN 105 

Hal 
But, Cora,' even in marriage itself only the happy 
are free. 

Cora 

{Intimating a hidden thought) 

I suppose the most difficult thing for some people is 

to give freedom. {He nods in understanding.) Poor 

Hal! How you have suffered, too, v^rith this tangle 

we are in. 

{The 'phone rings. They are surprised.) 
Who could that be? 

Hal 

{Nervously) 
No one knows your number ? 

Cora 
No. {The ring is repeated.) 

Hal 

{Dismissing it) 
Central's made a mistake. Don't answer it. 

Cora 
Everything startles me so these days. {Dismissing 
it too.) Have another toddy? 

Hal 
Not now. 



io6 A GOOD WOMAN 

Cora 
Tell me about the case. Is " Boss " McQuinn still 
going to take his libel suit into court? 

Hal 
It's called for to-morrow at ten. 

Cora 

{Pleased) 
To-morrow! It's come at last, then, after all your 
months of work. To-morrow. ( With a sigh ) And I 
can't be there in court to hear you when you testify, 
or to follow, in the open, each step we've talked over 
here. That's where my position hurts. 

Hal 

{With apparent difficulty throughout) 
Perhaps I sha'n't take the stand against McQuinn, 
after all. 

Cora 
You mean it won't be necessary? 

Hal 

Not exactly that. 

Cora 
But what you wrote about McQuinn in the 
Monthly ? 

Hal 
Every word of my exposure was true. 



A GOOD WOMAN 107 

Cora 
But you've said so often the whole defense of the 
magazine in McQuinn's libel suit against it rests on 
your testimony alone. 

Hal 

Yes, yes. 

Cora 

{Disappointed) 
I see. You mean the Monthly has decided to re- 
tract ? 

Hal 

No. 

Cora 
{Not quite grasping the significance) 
Is this why you walked with the snow beating in 
your face? 

Hal 

{With feeling) 
This is the silent place! Fm not going to testify 
in this suit, after all. Please don't question me about 
it, dear. 

Cora 

{Startled) 
Not going to testify? 



io8 A GOOD WOMAN 

Hal 

{Earnestly) 
Just trust me, Cora; and let me be silent as to the 
reason. 

Cora 
{Restraining her instinctive impulse to question and 
placing her hands on his shoulders) 
Whatever is the reason, I know you must have suf- 
fered. It is not like you to give up. {He lowers his 
eyes. ) You've never asked anything greater of me than 
this silence. 

Hal 
{Deeply moved) 
Perhaps I've never given anything greater, Cora. 
{The 'phone rings again: they look toward it.) 

Cora 
{Slowly) 
Did you give our number to any one? 

Hal 

{Nervously) 
No. (// rings again.) 

Cora 
Nobody ever rings here but you. 

{She goes apprehensively to the 'phone in spite 
of his movement to restrain her.) 
Yes, this is Cora Warren. . . . Who? ... Mr. Mc- 
Quinn ! ! 

{They look at each other. She quickly controls 
herself and speaks casually.) 



A GOOD WOMAN 109 

Mr. Merrill? . . . You're mistaken — ^why should 
he be here? . . . Theres' no need of ringing me up 
later. {She hangs up the receiver.) He laughed, Hal. 
He laughed! (She goes to h'un.) He has found out 
about you and me ! ! 

Hal 

No, no. 

Cora 

{Shaken) 
That's what it Is. It was the way he laughed ! 



Hal 

{Confused) 
Nonsense. 

Cora 
{Slowly grasping the situation) 
For months you've told me McQuInn has been fight- 
ing for his political life, desperate over your exposures. 
He's been doing everything to " get " your witnesses — 
to " get " something on ynu. Why, he offered you 
money — enough to make you independent for life. 
You refused all that ; but, now, you're going to do what 
he wants. 

Hal 

I'm doing what I want, I tell you ; what / want. 



no A GOOD WOMAN 

Cora 
That's not so. This investigation has been your 
absorbing passion for months. You've seen what it 
means to the hundreds of w^omen and children who 
have suffered by his exploitations. He's got something 
on you, something you had to give in to. 

Hal 

No, no! 

Cora 
It's you and me, Hal. You ask silence of me be- 
cause you didn't want to hurt me. It's you and me; 
you and me. 

Hal 

No, no! 

Cora 
{Slowly) 
Hal, it is that. Answer me, boy. It is that — isn't 
it? 

Hal 

{Admitting it, after a futile denial) 
And I didn't want you to know. 

Cora 
He threatened to tell about our relations together 
if you testified against him ? 



A GOOD WOMAN iii 

Hal 



Yes: the blackguard. 

Cora 
{Moved) 
And you love me more than- 



Hal 

{Tenderly) 
I only did what any man would. {She lowers her 
head.) Dearest, don't take it so hard. I'm glad a 
chance came to show you how I loved you. 

Cora 
I knew without this proof, Hal ; I knew. 

{She sits with her face buried in her hands. 
He stands beside her.) 

Hal 

McQulnn met me to-night, on the street, alone. 
He said he knew about our three years — our summer 
abroad — this place — all. He said he hated tO' hit a 
woman, but he knew he was beaten and had to use 
any weapon he could find. All he asked of me was 
silence and he would give the same about us — or for 
me to forget a bit on the stand or muddle my testi- 
mony. Of course, I saw what it would mean to the 
case : but it was the only way to save you. {He shrugs 
his shoulders.) He must have guessed I'd come straight 
to you. He has ways of finding out *phone numbers. 



112 A GOOD WOMAN 

I suppose he wanted to frighten you and thus make 
sure I wouldn't change my mind. 



Cora 
(Slowly) 
Did he mention your wife? 

Hal 
Yes. 

Cora 

(Desperately) 
Did you tell him you and she had been separated be- 
fore you met me? That she didn't love you, that she 
hated you, yet clung to your name because she knew 
you wanted freedom to marry me? Did you tell him 
she wouldn't give you that freedom, because of a few 
words mumbled over her by an official and because she 
said she was " a good woman " ? 



Hal 

I did not discuss the matter. It was my wife who 
told him about us. 

Cora 
Your wife! 

Hal 
Yes. That act describes her, doesn't it? 



A GOOD WOMAN 113 

Cora 
{Bitterly) 
And the law gives a woman like that the right to 
keep you — a woman whose body is dry and her love 
cold — and it discards me who — oh! 

Hal 

{Sarcastically) 
It was my wife's way of disentangling me. She 
thought I'd rather give you up than this case. She 
thought I'd sacrifice you. But she didn't know me: 
she never knew me. 

Cora 
And she knew me! 

Hal 
It's done. Now we must forget and go on. 

Cora 
{Gazing dully before her) 
What are you going to do now? 

Hal 

That's what we must think of. 

Cora 
It will mean you will have to leave the Monthly. 

Hal 

Yes. They're tired of the suit, anyway. Their ad- 
vertising has fallen off. {Putting his arm about her) 
We have each other. 



114 A GOOD WOMAN 

Cora 
{Ominously) 
And always we'd fear McQuinn knocking at our 
door. 

Hal 
{Trying to cheer her) 
Nonsense, dear. He'll never bother to come up our 

stairs. 

Cora 
How we women hamper you men. {He protests.) 
Yes, we do. Your wife's " respectability " and 
my 

Hal 
Hush, dear. It's not our fault. 

Cora 
That we love? No. But because we've spoken 
the whole language of love the world blames us. 
{With growing emotion) If I'd kept my love hidden, 
worn myself sapless, wasted without expression, then I'd 
have been " a good woman " ! If I'd seen you casu- 
ally, or if I'd let you come near me, with the flames 
smoldering, burning us both inside so that there 
was nothing in our thoughts but fire; nothing of 
comradeship and beauty that we now have — then I'd 
still have been " a good woman." But because I let 
you see my love, because I wasn't a contemptible tease, 
because I knew all things were equally important in 



A GOOD WOMAN 115 

love, because I gave myself to you, I'm not '* a good 
woman"! {She laughs ironically.) 

Hal 

We live in the world, dear. 

Cora 
And we must go on living. {With a quick resolu- 
tion) But there is no need now of our being cowards! 

Hal 

Cowards ! 

Cora 

Yes. Up to now, Hal, as I see it, we have not been 
that. We did what we believed was right, no matter 
what others may say. But now you and I are thinking 
of doing what we know is wrong; and that is the test 
of our courage. 

Hal 

You mean? 

Cora 

That now we're asking somebody else to pay the 
price: the hundreds of women and children in this city 
whom McQuinn would still go on exploiting if you 
did not go on the stand and drive him out of power. 

Hal 

{Losing momentary control) 
It's true; it's true. But how could I ask that of 
you? 



ii6 A GOOD WOMAN 

Cora 
Why not? 

Hal 

No, no. We must think of ourselves now — our- 
selves. 

Cora 
{Putting her hand on his arm) 
You and I cannot do as many others. We've got to 
keep right, in each other's eyes, or the w^orld will 
beat us. 

Hal 
I've done the hardest thing for you I could, Cora. 

Cora 
It's not always easy to be a coward, Hal. And that's 
what I'd also be if I accepted. Somebody else would 
be paying. Somebody else. That can never be right. 
{She bows her head. There is a long pause. 
He rises, goes to the window, then paces up 
and down. The snow is heard freely beating 
against the pane. Her mind slowly gains con- 
trol of her emotions and she looks up at him.) 
Hal? 

Hal 
Yes. 

Cora 
If you went on the stand to-morrow and told the 
truth about McQuinn, would your relations with me 
hurt your statement about him? 



A GOOD WOMAN 117 

Hal 

{Bitterly) 
No. It's only a woman whose sex morals can be 
taken that advantage of in our courts. 

Cora 
( With deter m inatio n ) 
Then you must tell the truth. 

Hal 

{Desperately) 
And have you hurt? Never! 

Cora 
I would be hurt far worse if you did not love me 
enough to do what I ask. 

Hal 

Cora! {Comes to her.) You don't realize what 
it means. 

Cora 

{Calmly) 
I realize that your public usefulness would be de- 
stroyed because you wished to protect my reputation. 
What people think of me matters little now. 

Hal 

What people think of j^ou means everything to me. 

Cora 
You fear to have them think me a bad woman? 



ii8 A GOOD WOMAN 

Hal 
Cora! 

Cora 
Then what difference what they think so long as we 
understand each other? 

Hal 

They'd forgive a man. But you're a woman. 
They'd never forgive you — never. 

Cora 
Nothing will be harder than cowardice. 

Hal 

{Going to her) 
I can't do this — I can't. They'd think me a cad to 
sacrifice you like this. 

Cora 
That thought has made liars and cowards of many 
men! 

Hal 

We mustn't be foolish. There's nothing greater in 
life than what two people feel for each other. 

Cora 
{Desperately) 
That's why I am asking this of you. Don't make 
it harder for me — don't ! 



A GOOD WOMAN 119 

Hal 

You are thinking of those out in the city ; I am think- 
ing only of you. 

Cora 
But you mustn't. 

Hal 

You're worth more to me than all of them. 

Cora 
But you must think of the people. 

Hal 

The people? That mob any fool can lead with a 
few catch phrases ? That ignorant mass that cheers one 
day and crucifies the next? What do they really give 
anybody? I'll tell you. Nothing but ingratitude and 
scars while you live with immortelles and a monument 
when you're dead. Why should I sacrifice you for 
them? 

Cora 
Hal! You don't know them 



Hal 

Oh, yes, I do. They can't sustain their moral atti- 
tudes. It's all a periodic fit with them. They shout 
a lot while the brass band plays and they cheer any 
fool in the red light. Then they settle back into their 
old self-righteousness while the McQuinns are always 
on the job. 



120 A GOOD WOMAN 

Cora 
You're unjust. You don't know what you're say- 
ing. It's because they are Ignorant that strong leaders 
like you should go to them. {He laughs.) You must 
not forget those others who are working with you 
against McQuinn. 

Hal 

The Reformers? Huh. I know them, too. I'm 
sick to death of political reforms and reformers who 
plant together but reap their fruits separately. 

Cora 
{Trying to stop him) 
They're human and 

Hal 

Yes; that's it. Damn human! Why, even now 
they're squabbling over who shall run for Mayor once 
they put McQuinn out of power. They're fighting, 
just like the grafters, with all the same petty jealous 
personalities. Reformers! Would they put you on 
their visiting list even if they knew you sacrificed your 
reputation for them? With all their political morality 
do you think they'd dare go against public opinion on 
private morals? No! They couldn't run for office 
themselves if they did. They'd think you unclean 

Cora 

No, no! 



A GOOD WOMAN 121 

Hal 
Yes: just as they think McQuinn unclean. They'd 
accept your sacrifice. But they'd use it as they use 
their causes: to ride into power themselves. Reform- 
ers! I sha'n't sacrifice you for them. What do they 
care for you and me ? 

Cora 
But it's not a sacrifice to do what is right. 

Hal 
Others will try to do what I have failed in. There 
are always plenty of reformers. I don't want the 
glory. I've seen the graves of martyrs. No, no. I'll 
go through with what McQuinn demands just because 
it's you and me who matter — you and me. 

Cora 
With McQuinn always waiting at the door. ( The 
'phone rings sharply again.) You see? 

Hal 

Damn him! Why doesn't he leave us alone? 

— — ^* 

Cora 
We'll never be alone again. 

Hal 
I'll fix him. 



122 A GOOD WOMAN 

Cora 
{With calm strength) 
He must be answered now as well as later. 

Hal 

{As she starts to the 'phone) 
You sha'n't do this. 

Cora 
I'll not let your work be ruined by my cowardice. 

Hal 
I tell you I'm through with that work. 

Cora 
But you're not through with my love ! It's my love 
speaking now for our love, which I must keep clean in 
my own eyes. Our love which the law punishes by 
denying it freedom to live in the open! Our love 
which keeps me from being " a good woman " — ^like 
your wife ! 

{She goes to the 'phone. Hal, seeing the 

futility of further words, sinks hack into his 

chair overcome by what the future holds.) 

Yes. This is Cora Warren. . . . Who wishes to talk 

to Mr. Merrill? ... Is this Mr. McQuInn talking? 

. . . Mr. McQuinn, I'm glad you rang up. . . . 

I'm fully acquainted with the particulars of the case. 

... Yes, of course, we're going to be sensible. . . . 

What are you going to do? . . . Thanks for putting 

it so clearly. I wanted you to say that to me also. 



A GOOD WOMAN 123 

We're not at all anxious to have this story come out. 
. . . No. But Mr. Merrill is going on the stand 
to-morrow to tell the truth. . . . Yes. . . . And . . . 
if the story is subsequently published . . . or if he is 
cross-examined by your lawyers about our relations, / 
shall go on the stand, produce a record that you 'phoned 
me twice, and corroborate his statement that you tried 
to blackmail him into silence. . . . You are quite sure 
you understand ? . . . You're sorry for me ? . . . Oh, 
that's all right, Mr. McQuinn. . . . What's that? 
{Her voice trails off.) Yes, I know I'm ''a hell of a 
fine woman." 

{She hangs up the receiver and goes slowly to 
Hal.) 
You did what you thought best for me. I did what 
is best for you. 

Hal 

{Holding her close as she kneels beside him) 
Poor dear, brave girl. He'll publish it. I know him. 
And then — oh! 

Cora 
Yes, dearest. But he didn't laugh this time! 
{There is a triumphant smile upon her face.) 

[the curtain falls] 



THE BLACK TIE 



THE PEOPLE 

Secretary Ford. 

Netha, his wife. 

Stella, their daughter. 

Nettie, Mrs. Ford's maid; a mulatto, 

Jo, Nettie's hoy. 

SCENE 
An upstairs sitting-room at the Fords'. One spring 
afternoon. 



THE BLACK TIE* 

F M fHE outlines of the room are simple. A deep 

m bay-windoiUj with delicate sash-curtains , is at 
-^ one side, looking apparently down on the street 
below. Near this there is a small desk littered with 
letters. In back, a door opens off into Stella's room. 
Another door, into the hallway and stairs without, is 
directly opposite the window. On the further side of 
the room, a longer table, filled with magazines and 
books, supports a telephone. The Oriental rugs, the 
quiet mahogany furniture, and carefully selected pic- 
tures upon the wall betoken means. Several vases con- 
tain fresh floiuers. The room is cheerfully lighted by 
the strong sun pouring in the bay-window, 

Mr. and Mrs. Ford are seen: Mr. Ford, seated 
in a deep, comfortable chair, is glancing through the 
newspapers, looking now and then over at Mrs. Ford, 
who is writing at the desk. 

Mrs. Ford is in her late thirties, bien soignee, and 
enhanced by a gown in the very latest fashion. One 
senses social authority and a calm outlook on life which 
nothing fundamentally disturbs. 

Ford is older, comfortably middle-aged, in fact, yet 
not devoid of physical attractions. His kind face re- 
veals a sympathetic nature, though he remains essen- 
tially a man of large affairs. 
* Copyright, 19 14, by George Middleton. All rights reserved. 



128 THE BLACK TIE 

They are indeed a harmoniously happy couple in the 
best circumstances J to whom life has been good. 

Mrs. Ford 
{Signing a letter) 
There, that's answered. I've accepted for the thirti- 
eth at the Lawsons'. 

Ford 
{With a sigh) 
All right. Suppose we might as well get it out of 
our system. 

Mrs. Ford 
What time is it, dear? 

Ford 
{Looking at his watch) 
Just two. {Casually J as he reads the headlines) 
Are you going to use the car this afternoon? 

Mrs. Ford 
There's a the-dansant on at the Westertons'. I 
promised to drop in. Want to come? 

Ford 
I thought I'd play a few holes of golf. Fve had 
a hard week. 

Mrs. Ford 
Miss Lee is going to be there: she's got some new 
steps to show us. 



THE BLACK TIE 129 

Ford 
If you don't mind, I prefer to try some old strokes 
instead. 

(Nettie enters. She is about thirty, obviously 
a mulatto, though her heritage is written lightly, 
if indelibly, upon her black hair and attractive 
features. Her quiet manner of speech has 
scarcely the slightest trace of racial accent. 
Though her face is expressive, there is an in- 
scrutable something about her eyes which would 
excite the imagination of any one sufficiently 
interested to consider her more than a maid in 
the household.) 



I beg pardon. 



Nettie 
{Quietly) 



Mrs. Ford 

What is it, Nettie? 

Nettie 
What dress shall Miss Stella put on? 

Mrs. Ford 
( Casually ) 
Oh, any of her little white ones. 

Ford 
Tell Miss Stella Fd like to see her. 



130 THE BLACK TIE 

Nettie 
Yes, Mr. Ford. She's only got to slip on her dress. 

(Nettie goes out quietly,) 

Ford 
You're not going to take Stella to the Westertons' ? 

Mrs. Ford 
Why, what a foolish question. {Smiling.) She's 
going to parade. 

Ford 
{Putting down his paper) 
Parade? Our Stella? 

Mrs. Ford 
{Speaking casually throughout as she sorts and reads 

her letters) 
Yes, haven't you noticed her prattling about it? 
It's to celebrate the conference of Sunday-school teach- 
ers or something, I can't quite make out. I think all 
the different Sunday-schools are sending their children. 

Ford 
{Half deprecating) 
Oh, I don't like to have our Stella 



Mrs. Ford 
Neither do I ; but all her little friends are going, so 
I hadn't the heart to refuse. {Glancing out the win- 
dow.) It's a nice clear day, too, and they don't march 
far. 



THE BLACK TIE 131 

Ford 
I never thought she was much interested in her Sun- 
day-school : she's always seemed willing enough to take 
trips with us over the week-ends. Are you sure it is 
all right? 

Mrs. Ford 
Yes. I telephoned the Thompsons. Jack's going, 
too. I thought I'd send Nettie down with Stella and 
she can bring the child back afterwards. 

Ford 
I want Stella to have a good time, of course. 
{Smiling.) Dear, you don't think she's trying to imi- 
tate you? 

Mrs. Ford 
How? 

Ford 
( Good-naturedly ) 
You would march to the Capitol with that Suffrage 
petition, you know. 

{They laugh as Stella enters^ followed by 
Nettie, who is trying to fasten her dress. 

Stella is a sweety rather precocious child of 
ten. She has on a beautiful, though simple, 
white frock with a large pink ribbon belt and 
hair-bows.) 

Stella 
Oh, daddy! {She runs and kisses him.) I'm glad 
you're home in time to see me. 



132 THE BLACK TIE 

Ford 
My little girl! How beautiful you are! 

Mrs. Ford 
Tom, you'll spoil her. 

Nettie 
(Smiling and showing her affection for Stella 

throughout) 
Let me finish it, Miss Stella. I couldn't make her 
wait, Mr. Ford. 

Ford 
Is that a new dress? 

Stella 
{Pouting) 
No: I wanted a new one for the parade, es — pec — i — 
ally. 

Ford 
Goodness ! That's a big word for such a little girl. 

Stella 

{Stamping) 

You make me so mad when you call me " little." 

I'm taller than Jo now, and Nettie always calls him 

" her big boy." Don't j^ou, Nettie? (Nettie smiles.) 

Ouch! you stuck me! 

Nettie 
I am sorry. Miss Stella. 



THE BLACK TIE 133 

Stella 
(Smoothing out her dress) 
This horrid dress! I wish I had a new one. 

Mrs. Ford 
I told you I'd get you some new ones when you went 
to visit grandma. 

Stella 
(Pouting) 
She won't have a parade, will she? 

Ford 
I hope not. Es — pec — i — ally, if it's going to make 
our little girl so cross. 

Nettie 
(Hushing Stella) 
She isn't cross, Mr. Ford; she's excited about the 
parade. 

Mrs. Ford 
Nettie, I want you to take Stella down in the car 
and 

Stella 

(Disappointed) 

Oh, mama, aren't you going to watch me march? 

Ford 
Your mother has an engagement. 



134 THE BLACK TIE 

Stella 
{Petulantly) 
I hate engagements, I hate them. They always 
take you away from me. 

Mrs. Ford 

{Going to Stella) 
Why, what's come over you to-day, child? {Kiss- 
ing her,) There, dear, you mustn't speak like that. I 
have sent for the car and I thought Nettie might take 
her Jo along, too. 

Stella 
{Brightening) 
That will be nice, won't it, Nettie? 

Nettie 
{Pleased) 
I can come fetch my Jo later if 



Ford 
No; ride down all together and send the car back 
for us. 

Nettie 
Thank you. Jo is looking forward to the parade so. 

Ford 
{Mildly interested and humoring them throughout) 
Jo is going to be in the parade, too ? 



THE BLACK TIE 135 

Nettie 
{Proudly) 
Yes, Mr. Ford ; indeed he is. 

Stella 
Nettie's got him a new suit. 

Ford 
A new suit? How interesting. 

Nettie 
Yes, Mr. Ford. This parade is all there is in that 
big boy's head of mine. You might reckon it was a 
circus the way he jumps thinking of it. 

Stella 
Nettie says she has put a big black tie on Jo so she 
can see him when he passes. 

Ford 
{More interested) 
You're going to watch Jo pass? 

Nettie 
{Beaming) 
Yes, sir. 

Mrs. Ford 
But, Nettie, I'll have to change my gown after you 
take the children down and 



136 THE BLACK TIE 

Nettie 
(Hesitating) 
You want me to come back? 

Ford 
(To Mrs. Ford) 
Let Nettie go. Fll fasten it. 

Mrs. Ford 
( Smiling good-naturedly ) 
You're a hero, Tom. 

Nettie 
But I'll come back if 

Mrs. Ford 
(Dismissing it) 
If Marie isn't here, I'll let Mr. Ford. I want 
you to enjoy the parade. 

Nettie 
Thank you. I want so to see Jo march past. He's 
been waiting ready downstairs since twelve o'clock. 
Jo's never missed his Sunday-school in over three 
years. And I reckon I'm not going to let him miss 
this parade. All the children get a flag with a white 
cross on it, to keep, he tells me. 

Stella 
Oh, mama, Jo looks just lovely! I saw him all 
ready when I came in. 



\ 



THE BLACK TIE 137 

Nettie 
{Embarrassed) 
Hush, Miss Stella! 

Stella 
But he does. Nettie's put a white duck suit on him 
so he'll look clean. Didn't you, Nettie ? Ask mama if 
you can't bring Jo up and show her. Please, daddy, let 
her. 

Ford 
{Humoring them) 
Yes, do, Nettie. Bring Jo up. Let's see the little 
fellow. 

Nettie 
Can I, Mrs. Ford? 

Mrs. Ford 
Certainly, if Miss Stella's all ready. 

Nettie 
You think there's time? 

Mrs. Ford 
Didn't you say it starts from G Street at two- 
thirty, Stella? 

Nettie 
I think it's at three, Mrs. Ford. 



138 THE BLACK TIE 

Mrs. Ford 
Mr. Ford will look it up in the paper, to be sure. 

Nettie 
I don't want Jo to be late. 

(Nettie goes out quietly, pleased at the 
prospect of showing her boy to them. 

Mrs. Ford goes to Stella, who has been 
Stan ding tho ugh t fully . ) 

Mrs. Ford 
What Is it, Stella? 

Stella 

(Slowly) 

Mama, do you love me like Nettie loves her Jo? 

Mrs. Ford 
(As Ford looks up) 
Stella! 

Stella 
Jo's all Nettie thinks of. She's always talking about 
him and making him clothes to wear and 

Mrs. Ford 
(Caressing her) 
Nettie's a good girl, but she doesn't love her Jo any- 
more than I love you, darling. 

Stella 
But she's going to watch Jo march. 



THE BLACK TIE 139 

Mrs. Ford 
All mothers love their children, only their lives are 
different. 

Stella 
{Persistently) 
Why are they different? 

Mrs. Ford 
They are not born the same. 

Stella 
Is there a different stork for some girls? 

Mrs. Ford 
You're too young to understand yet. 

Stella 

That's what you always tell me. {Suddenly) But 
would you cry if daddy hadn't let me parade to-day? 

Mrs. Ford 
I'd be sorry, of course, but it wouldn't be some- 
thing to cry over. 

Stella 
Nettie'd cry, wouldn't she, if you didn't let her 
Jo march? 

Mrs. Ford 
But I have nothing to do with that, dear. 



I40 THE BLACK TIE 

Ford 
Stella, come here. (She goes to him as he puts his 
arm around her.) You must never think your mother 
doesn't love you. When people have a great many 
things in their lives, these little matters can't mean 
as much as it does to those who have only a few things 
to interest them. You see, dear, your mother has so 
much and Nettie has so little. That's why the parade 
means more to Nettie. 



Stella 
Is that why she's crazy to see her Jo march and 
mama doesn't want to see me march? 



Mrs. Ford 
Oh, the questions of children. 

Ford 
Hadn't you better watch out for the car, Stella? 

Stella 
All right. Only I wish some one would explain 
things to me. A girl's got so much to learn. 

(Stella goes, half-pouting, to the bay-window 
and looks out. Mrs. Ford smiles and makes 
a half-amused gesture to Ford, who shrugs his 
shoulders and resumes reading. Mrs. Ford 
glances over at Stella and becomes thought- 
ful.) 



THE BLACK TIE 141 

Mrs. Ford 
Have you found out the time for sure, Tom? I'd 
hate to have the children late. 

Ford 
Yes, here it is. Nettie was right. It's at three. 
(He starts at something he has seen in the 
paper, motions her to come nearer so Stella 
wont hear, and points to the paper. Mrs. 
Ford takes it, reads it, and then lowers it 
slowly. They look at each other, apparently 
moved by what they have read.) 

Mrs. Ford 
{Quietly) 
That's too cruel. It can't be true. 

Ford 
The newspapers are always right with this sort of 
news. 

Mrs. Ford 
Why don't you telephone and see ? You might catch 
Mr. Grayson. 

Ford 
{Getting 'phone book) 
Will he know? 

Mrs. Ford 
He'd know that. {Shaking her head) I can't be- 
lieve it. {Calling) Stella. 



142 THE BLACK TIE 

Stella 
Yes, mama. 

Mrs. Ford 
Get your hat and see if you can put it on yourself 
nicely. 

(Stella goes out im back. Ford waits till 
she has gone.) 

Ford 
{At 'phone) 
North 312. 

(Mrs. Ford puts the paper down on the chair 
and comes half anxiously beside him.) 
Hello. . . . Give me Mr. Grayson. . . . Hello, Gray- 
son, this is Ford. Yes, Secretary Ford. ... I want 
to ask whether that story in the afternoon paper is 
true? No: the one about the colored children not 
being allowed to parade with the white children. . . . 
I don't want to hear the reason — ^just if it's true. Oh ! 
. . . That's all. . . . Good-by. {He hangs up the 
receiver.) It's true, Netha. 

Mrs. Ford 
That's too bad. 

{They look at each other as Nettie is heard 
outside. ) 

Nettie 
Come along, Jo ; don't be scared. They asked to see 
you. Come. 



THE BLACK TIE 143 

(Nettie enters holding Jo's hand.) Jo is about 
eighty and darker than his mother. He has on 
a white suit with a shiny patent-leather belt and 
a large black tie. 

They stand there: a look of pride upon Net- 
tie's face as Jo grins and leans shyly against 
her. The Fords are nonplussed and stare at 
each other.) 
Jo is scared. Make a bow and say good-afternoon, Jo. 
(Jo grins and draws nearer his mother again.) 

Mrs. Ford 
{Trying to find words) 
Good-afternoon, Jo. 

Nettie 
{Smiling) 
I reckon, Mrs. Ford, I'll see him with that black 
tie on. 



Mrs. Ford 
Yes, yes. Where did you get it? 

Nettie 
I've had it for years. It was a scarf which my old 
mother had from her master's wife before the war. I 
never could wear it myself somehow, so I cut and sewed 
it all week for Jo. It is old, but black, somehow don't 
ever wear out. 



144 THE BLACK TIE 



Black- 



FORD 

{To himself) 



Mrs. Ford 
(Nervously) 
How pretty? Isn't it, dear? 

Ford 
{Moved by the situation) 
Yes, yes. 

Nettie 
{Beaming proudly throughout) 
I made this here white duck from some old pants of 
yours you had throwed away, Mr. Ford. They look 
so well with his face, but they speck so. {Shaking Jo 
half admonishinglyj aside,) You've gone and got your 
shoes I shined twice this morning all dirty again. 
Why did you do that? 

{She kneels quickly and brushes off the shoes 

as Jo smiles. Then she recalls where she is, and 

rises, embarrassed.) 

Excuse me, Mrs. Ford. This here boy is all I've 

got in the world. He's a good boy, minds all I say, 

except once in a while. (Jo grins.) I was afraid it 

would rain to-day. Jo and I have looked forward to 

this parade so. I tell Jo it's to glorify God that he's 

marching — 'cause if there wasn't no God, Jo couldn't 

parade to-day. 



THE BLACK TIE 145 

Mrs. Ford 
(With appeal) 



Tom. 



Ford 
(After a helpless effort, as he watches Nettie 

straighten Jo's tie) 
Nettie, you're quite sure Jo isn't too tired to march ? 

Nettie 
(Proudly) 
Tired? Jo tired? Only this morning he raced 
Mr. Thompson's boy, Master Jack, off his feet. And 
Master Jack is some runner, isn't he, Jo? (Jo grins.) 
Jo's got good blood in him, though his father didn't 
amount to much, and muscle. Put your arm up, Jo. 
(He does so.) When he grows up, he'll be too strong 
for words. It most breaks my arms now to spank him. 
(Jo grins again.) Hasn't never been sick a day neither 
and 

Ford 

(Interrupting kindly) 
I was wondering, Nettie, if — if instead of the pa- 
rade this afternoon, you wouldn't like to take Jo for 
a long automobile ride in the country — after you took 
Stella down? 

Mrs. Ford 

(Quickly) 

Yes, do, Nettie. We won't need the car and — — 



146 THE BLACK TIE 

Nettie 
{PFith a certain quiet dignity) 
Thank you, Mrs. Ford. But Jo is going to parade 
for the glory of God, ain't you, Jo? 

Ford 
( Turning aside) 
For the glory of God! 

(Stella comes running in excitedly with her 
hat on,) 

Stella 
The car's here. Hurry, Nettie, get your hat on. 

Nettie 
Yes, Miss Stella. {Starting toward door) Come 
along, Jo. 

Ford 
(At a motion from Mrs. Ford) 
Nettie. 

Stella 

(Impatiently) 

Don't stop Nettie, dad ; it's getting late and 



Ford 
(With difficulty throughout and trying to soften his 

words) 
Nettie, I — I am afraid, after all, you had better let 
Mrs. Ford take Stella down. 



THE BLACK TIE 147 

Stella 
{Eagerly) 
You're going with me, mother? 

Mrs. Ford 
{Glancing at Ford) 
Yes, I'll take you down. 

Stella 
But, mama, you promised to let Nettie and Jo go 
with me, and if they walk down now, they'll be late. 

Nettie 
We can hurry, can't we, Jo? 

Ford 
Nettie, I'm sorry but — very sorry, but I'm afraid you 
misunderstood about Jo and the parade. 

(Nettie; looks up quickly and instinctively 
draws Jo closer to her.) 
The paper says they've changed their plans at the 
last moment and — and 

Mrs. Ford 

Don't worry, Nettie. Maybe sometime soon again 
they'll have a parade just for the little colored chil- 
dren. 

Nettie 
{Not understanding) 
Just for the little colored children ? But his teacher 
said 



148 THE BLACK TIE 

Ford 
{With reluctance) 
I know. But to-day's parade Is only for the little 
white children. 

Nettie 
(Slowly) 
For the little white children? 

Stella 
They're not going to let Jo march to-day? 

Ford 
{Shaking his head slowly) 
Not to-day, Nettie. 

Nettie 
{With a fierce primitive cry of pain) 
Oh!!! 

Mrs. Ford 
You don't care, Nettle, If 



Nettie 
{Poignantly) 
Don't care? 

Mrs. Ford 
{Confused) 
I mean — oh! 

{There is a pause as Nettie slowly regains 
her calm. But an inscrutable look has come 



THE BLACK TIE 149 

into her face, as she stares before her, clutching 
her boy close in her skirt, so that he is almost 
hidden. The others can say nothing at the 
poignancy of the grief they have just wit- 
nessed.) 



Dad? 

Yes, Stella. 

IVhy can't Jo go? 



Stella 
{Quietly) 



Ford 



Stella 



Ford 
{Hesitates, as he looks at Nettie, still staring inscruta- 
bly before her) 
Because 

Stella 
But Jo goes to his Sunday-school, too, like I go to 
mine. And he has never missed a Sunday In three 
years — Nettie told you. Why won't they let him 
march? Is there something he has done that he 
shouldn't, and they are punishing him? 

Ford 
No, no. It's nothing he has done. 



I50 THE BLACK TIE 

Stella 
Then, why do they punish him? 

Mrs. Ford 
Stella! 

Stella 
{After a pause, going to Jo) 
I am sorry, Jo. There are so many things we boys 
and girls won't know till we grow up. I am sorry you 
can't parade to-day. 

(Jo starts to cry. At the first sound Nettie 
hushes him imperatively and then, with her 
former impenetrable calm, speaks kindly to 
Stella.) 

Nettie 
Are you ready, Miss Stella? 

Stella 
{Eagerly again) 
Yes; we'd better hurry. 

Mrs. Ford 
I'll take her downtown, Nettie. Wait for me till I 
get my hat, Stella. 

Nettie 
You go down and wait for me, Jo. I'll get your hat 
for you, Mrs. Ford. 

(Nettie goes out, without a word, into the 
room in back, as Stella goes over to Jo 
who, standing by the door, looks crestfallen.) 



THE BLACK TIE 151 

Stella 

(Kindly) 

Come along with me, Jo, and see me get In the car. 

Come. (Taking his hand.) I'll tell you all about it 

when I come back and I'll bring you my flag with the 

white cross on it, so you can always keep it. 

(The children go out together, hand in hand. 
Ford looks at the paper silently, then throws it 
aside. ) 

Mrs. Ford 
(Shaking her head) 
It's almost too big for words, when one sees it like 
this, isn't it? But I suppose poor little Jo would have 
to learn, sooner or later, things are different for him. 

Ford 
(Bitterly) 
" For the glory of God ! " I wonder what would 
happen if Christ should come back — colored! 

Mrs. Ford 
Tom! You say the most shocking things! It's 
horrible. But you know we can't alter life. 

Nettie 
(Re-entering quietly with the hat and hatpins, which 
she hands to Mrs. Ford) 
Your hat, Mrs. Ford. 



152 THE BLACK TIE 

Mrs. Ford 
Thank you, Nettie. {Putting it on) 1 wish I had 
my hand-mirror. (Nettie starts to get one) Never 
mind, this will do. Good-by, Tom. 

Ford 
I'll see you and Stella off. 

Mrs. Ford 
We'd better hurry. She'll be late. 

{They start as though to say something to 
Nettie but seem at loss for words. Then 
they go out. 

Nettie is left alone. She stands for a sec- 
ond and then, without a change of expression, 
goes slowly over to the window and pulls aside 
the curtains. She looks out at the car with 
Stella in it, as it apparently goes off to the 
parade,) 

[the curtain falls] 



CIRCLES 



THE PEOPLE 

Professor John Owen. 

Elizabeth, his wife. 

Ida Lawson, their married daughter, 

SCENE 

The sitting-room at the Owens' in the city. Late one 

winter evening. 



CIRCLES 



* 



jt COMFORTABLE sitting-room is disclosed. 

A-m A door in hack opens on a hallway with, the 
-^ -*■ stairs leading to the floor below just visible. 
Another door at the right opens on Mrs. Owen's 
bedroom, A window is at the left near the fireplace 
with its blazing logs. By this is a large easy-chair 
close to a table which contains a lighted lamp and some 
books and magazines. The sofa beyond this, the heavy 
rugs, the soft curtains, the dull lambrequin on the 
mantel, supporting the inevitable clock, and the well- 
worn chairs, all seem to have become part of a room 
which has gained a homey atmosphere with the years. 

Mrs. Owen is seated, intently reading a popular 
novel. The clock strikes the half-hour and she looks 
tip, apparently surprised at the time. She puts down 
the book after placing a silver paper-cutter in the leaves 
to mark her place. Then she rises, stares at the fire 
thoughtfully, as though fascinated by its cheerful flame. 

Mrs. Owen is nearing fifty. Her manner sug- 
gests, somehow, that her repose is not innate, but has 
been acquired through long schooling: her face, too, 
in spite of its calm beauty, seems to reflect the quiet 
that has followed a storm. She is dressed in a loose 
gown which enhances her natural dignity. 

♦Copyright, 19 14, by George Middleton. All rights reserved. 



156 CIRCLES 

As she is standing there, Ida, her daughter, enters 
unobserved and halts in the doorway, irresolutely look- 
ing at her mother. 

Ida Lawson is about thirty; calm, too, like her 
mother; though one feels it is but the temporary bit 
upon a nervous, restless spirit. She has a pleasing per- 
sonality not without obvious physical charm. She is 
dressed in street clothes with hat and furs. 

After a pause she throws the furs aside. Mrs. 
Owen, hearing her, turns in surprise. 

Ida 

Mother. 

Mrs. Owen 

Why, daughter! 

Ida 

I'm glad you are here. 

Mrs. Owen 

{As they kiss) 

We seldom go out now. I was just going to bed. 

Ida 

Was it father's light I saw in the library? 

Mrs. Owen 
Yes, he's reading, as usual. He likes a cold room, 
you know. Didn't you stop? 



CIRCLES 157 

Ida 

No; I came right up. {Trying to appear casual) 
What's he reading? 

Mrs. Owen 

How should / know? {Seeing Ida take off her 
hat) Anything the matter? 

Ida 
IVe come to spend the night with you. 

Mrs. Owen 
Oh, that's nice. It's never been the same here these 
six years since you and Curtis were married. Is he 
well? 

Ida 

Yes. 

Mrs. Owen 
I've been reading that novel he loaned me. {Show- 
ing it to her.) He said it was very interesting. 

Ida 

It bored me to death. 

{There is a pause.) 

Mrs. Owen 
Has Curtis gone away on business? 

Ida 

No. 



158 CIRCLES 

Mrs. Owen 

(Surprised) 
But if your husband's home ? 



Ida 

(Evasively) 
I thought I'd like a change. 

Mrs. Owen 
I'll tell Frances to air your old room. 

Ida 

I did when she took up my bag. 

Mrs. Owen 
How I hated to have you leave that old room of 
yours. Nothing's been changed since the day of your 
marriage. 

Ida 
I was full of wonder then. It will seem strange 
sleeping there again — with what I know now. 

Mrs. Owen 

(Intuitively) 
Is anything the matter? 

Ida 

No. (Crossing to the fire.) My hands are cold. 

Mrs. Owen 

And little Helen? 





CIRCLES 




Ida 


I left her asleep. 






Mrs. Owen 


Is she quite well 


again? 




Ida 


Yes, her cough is 


; all gone. 



159 



Mrs. Owen 

You were so susceptible to colds, too. You must 
tell her nurse to be more careful these damp days. 

Ida 

{Thoughtfully) 
Helen is like me in many ways, isn't she? 

Mrs. Owen 
Yes: but I wouldn't worry. 

Ida 
Were you like your mother? 

Mrs. Owen 
What a funny question. 

Ida 

( Curiously ) 
But were you? 



i6o CIRCLES 

Mrs. Owen 

I'm afraid not: your grandmother was too self- 
willed. At least that's what my father used to say. 

Ida 

{Absently) 
What a circle life is. 

Mrs. Owen 

( Gently ) 
But you didn't come this time of night to talk of 
circles, did you? 

Ida 

No. 

Mrs. Owen 
Then there is something the matter. 

Ida 
I'll tell you to-morrow. 

Mrs. Owen 
Why not now? 

Ida 
{Trying to dismiss it) 
You're tired and it's late. 

Mrs. Owen 

{Pleading quietly) 
We have had so few talks together, Ida. 



CIRCLES i6i 

Ida 

But it's — It's always, somehow, been so hard to tell 
you things. 

Mrs. Owen 
{Hurt) 
Hard to tell your own mother? 

Ida 

It may be naturally hard for me to confide In any- 
body. 

Mrs. Owen 

Perhaps, then, I'd better call your father. 

Ida 

{I71 spite of herself) 
He always freezes me so. 

Mrs. Owen 
Ida! 

Ida 
Just leave me alone to-night. 

Mrs. Owen 
I know you don't mean to be unkind. 

Ida 

Don't mind me — I 



1 62 CIRCLES 

Mrs. Owen 

{Shaking her head) 
I can't make you out ; it worries me ; for who should 
know you better than your mother. (Ida turns away.) 
Your father and I both love you so. You've always 
been everything to us — our only child. You know 
what it is to have an only child, too. (Ida looks at 
her in question as Mrs. Owen goes to her.) If little 
Helen were troubled, would you want her to go to any- 
body but you? And if she didn't ? 

Ida 
{Uncomfortably) 
Don't, mother. 

Mrs. Owen 
Perhaps you'd better go to bed. I know you've 
been worried about Helen's cold, but — tell me in the 
morning if you wish. Good-night, dear. 

Ida 
I can't sleep now. {There is a pause. Then she 
speaks abruptly.) Mother, I've left Curtis. 

Mrs. Owen 

{Startled) 
Left your husband? No, that's not possible. 

Ida 
Why not? {Grimly) Things are finished in this 
world. 



CIRCLES 163 

Mrs. Owen 

Nothing ever is — nothing. 

Ida 

(Firmly) 
This is. 

Mrs. Owen 

(Starts to protest and then halts) 
That tone of yours makes me shiver. It was the 
way your grandmother had at times. I heard it in your 
voice once before : the night you told us you were going 
to be married. 

Ida 

When you and father tried to argue me out of it. 
You didn't want to be left alone here. I remember 
how determined I felt then, too. Now I've left 
Curtis. And I've come back to you. Isn't it all 
funny ? 

But 



Mrs. Owen 



Ida 

(Interrupting) 
It's no use, mother. It won't be as hard as you 
think. Making up my mind is what has worn me out. 
Now I've got hold of myself. I see what I must do. 
I'm going to use my brain for once straight through. 
I've only followed my impulses before: they've made a 
fool of me. 



i64 CIRCLES 

Mrs. Owen 
Dear, you said yourself you were tired. You can't 
see clearly. You're not yourself. 

Ida 

Then who am I? 

(Mrs. Owen looks at her and shakes her head 
sadly as John Owen enters softly.^ 

Owen is in the early sixties, super-refined, 
rather precise in enunciation, and he suggests 
in both manner and appearance a certain cold- 
ness of exterior. He is entirely devoid of dis- 
cernible emotion. He has on eye-glasses at- 
tached to a black cord, and wears a smoking- 
jacket, though he has not taken off his collar 
or made himself otherwise comfortable.) 

Owen 
Frances informed me you were here, daughter. Why 
didn't you come in and see me? 

Ida 

{Somewhat restrained as they kiss) 
You never like to be disturbed when you are reading. 

Owen 

{Rather didactically) 
Bergson bores me anyway: he is trying to under- 
mine intellect with his emphasis on intuition. There 
is nothing logical about intuitiom though it gains its 
end by leaping over dark places. It's a purely femi- 



CIRCLES 165 

nine endowment; a defense against man's muscularity; 
but, on the whole 

Mrs. Owen 
{Interrupting J to his obvious displeasure) 
Ida's come to spend the night. 

Owen 
Indeed ? 

Ida 

I suppose you also want to know the reason. You'll 
have to know later, anyway. 

Mrs. Owen 

{Nervously) 
To-morrow, Ida: your father is tired. 

Owen 
{Irritably to Mrs. Owen) 
I am still capable of expressing my own sensations, 
Elizabeth. 

Ida 
{Half to herself) 
And here is where I grew up! 

Mrs. Owen 
She and Curtis have — Oh, it isn't true! 

Ida 

I'm not going to live with Curtis any more. I've 
left him. 



i66 CIRCLES 

Owen 

( Takes off his glasses and motions with them through- 
out as he looks at her in growing astonishment) 
Left your husband? 

Mrs. Owen 
I can't believe it, either. 

Ida 

Father, I know my own mind. I'm not a child; 
I'm' thirty; I'm married; I'm a mother. I've left my 
husband for good. I'll never live with him again, 
never. 

Owen 

There's no need to get excited. 

Ida 

I want you to see quite clearly I mean what I say. 

Owen 

{After a pause) 
I can't believe it. Left your husband? What's 
the trouble? {With a logical air as though it were 
a theorem.) Sit down and let me have the facts: then 
we can discuss the matter clearly. 

Ida 

{With a touch of emotion) 
Oh, why didn't you simply take me in your arms? 



CIRCLES 167 

Mrs. Owen 

{To OwExV) 
Don't be unkind to her. This has upset her. 

Owen 

{With some asperity) 
These women! I don't mean to be unkind, Eliza- 
beth. I understand her feelings. But somebody must 
keep his head. You women fly off so. I cannot give 
her any advice unless I know the facts. 

Ida 

I didn't come for advice. 

Owen 

Then, why did you come? 

Ida 

I had to go somewhere, didn't I? 

Mrs. Owen 

{Comforting her) 
You did quite right to come to those who can help. 

Ida 

{With a catch in her voice) 
I don't want help! 

Owen 

{With a quiet persistence) 
But misunderstandings happen in the best marriages. 



i68 CIRCLES 

They can generally be straightened out if people will 
only talk them over. 

Ida 

Talk, talk! Curtis and I have talked for months. 
I'm sick to death of talk. I just want to draw myself 
under a cover and sleep. Oh, to sleep in the dark! 

(Ida has covered her face with her hands. 

There is a pause as the others seem at a loss, 

though Owen is a trifle impatient. Mrs. 

OvfE^ finally goes to her.) 

Mrs. Owen 

Can't you let your father help you ? 

Owen 

{With reserve) 
If she doesn't feel that I am capable 



Ida 

{In a matter-of-fact tone) 
What do you wish to know? 

Owen 

You might take a less impersonal tone, daughter. I 
don't wish to probe. 

Mrs. Owen 

{Trying to soothe the situation) 
Don't make it difficult for your father, dear. You 
know how he hates to show his feelings. 



CIRCLES 169 

Ida 
Since I've come back to you I suppose it's not quite 
square to be silent. 

Mrs. Owen 

{Relieved) 
She'll tell you now, John. 

Owen 

Is it more than a misunderstanding? 

Ida 
It's everything. I wasn't a foolish romantic girl 
when we married. I didn't expect too much. But he 
and I can't even be friends. 

Mrs. Owen 
{Quickly) 
There is somebody else? 

Ida 

That's what everybody thinks nowadays when a 
marriage goes wrong. 

Mrs. Owen 

( Enigmatically ) 
One generally realizes then. 

(Ida eyes her with an intuitive flash of under- 
standing. ) 

Owen 

Are you trying to protect your husband ? 



I70 CIRCLES 

Ida 
Why should I? I'm no longer proud. The law 
would say he was guilty. 

Mrs. Owen 
Oh, the shame! 

Ida 

(Quickly) 
But I'm not sure the fault is his. The law doesn't 
seem to consider temperaments, does it? We're all 
in one mold. Perhaps Fm to blame. Who knows? 

Mrs. Owen 

(Shocked) 
Our daughter to blame? 

Owen 

What are you saying? 

Ida 

What few of us who get the divorces are willing to 
acknowledge : our part in the guilt. 

Owen 

(More seriously) 
You*re thinking of getting a divorce? 

Ida 
(With determination) 
Yes; it's fairer to him. 



CIRCLES 171 

Mrs. Owen 
Oh, Ida, perhaps it may not have to be that: it's so 
awful. 

Ida 

I know how unpleasant notoriety is to our family. 
That's the penalty of father's importance. I thought 
the fact that Curtis had other women would be enough 
to make you accept it easily. 

(Mrs. Owen turns away.) 

Owen 

Are you quite sure you have thought over what a 
divorce would mean? 

Ida 
I never thought of it till it became my personal 
question. If that's what you have in mind. 

Owen 

{Shaking his head) 
But it's not your question alone. That's my point. 
Society 

Ida 

{Sharply) 
Father, I can't be sociological. 

Mrs. Owen 

Then, what about Helen ? 



172 CIRCLES 

Ida 

{Calmly) 
I shall send for her to-morrow. 



Mrs. Owen 

{Alarmed) 
You are going to separate her from Curtis ? 

Owen 

Don't be foolish, Elizabeth; if Ida has determined 
on a divorce and her husband has been guilty with 
other women 

Ida 

{Quickly) 
I wouldn't resort to such a trick. 

Owen 

Trick? 

Ida 

{Scornfully) 
Do you feel that Helen is mine, just because my 
husband happened to break the law, the ridiculous law 
which declares he can't be a good father to Helen be- 
cause of his episodes? 

Mrs. Owen 

{Shocked) 
Episodes? Is that what you call them? 



CIRCLES 173 

Ida 

What else can I call them, when I see they haven't 
changed or influenced his life one bit? Surely you 
know, father, how unimportant such experiences often 
may be to a man like Curtis. 

Owen 

{Fundamentally offended) 
I know nothing of the sort! You ought to be 
ashamed to make such remarks before your mother. 
If you don't think his episodes mean anything, why 
are you denying him his right to Helen ? 

Ida 
Because Helen belongs to me, not to him. I carried 
her alone. He went away during most of my time. 
My condition offended him. She's mine because Curtis 
didn't sit by my side when Helen was born; because 
he didn't suffer through seeing me suffer. All he 
was willing to give to parenthood was a man's mo- 
mentary pleasure: I gave pain — such long pain. Why, 
during all those months he never even warmed me 
with his hands. 

Owen 

{Shocked) 
What do you know of a man's feelings at such a 
time ? 

Ida 

I'd like to know about other men. {She goes im- 
pulsively to Mrs. Owen.) Mother, when / was born, 



174 CIRCLES 

did father^ ? (Mrs. Owen is startled.) Never 

mind, don't answer. How foolish of me ! I might have 
known. We're wasting time talking — talking. How 
I hate words! 

{She turns towards the fire again, half ab- 
sorbed, ) 

Mrs. Owen 

Don't reproach your father, Ida; he — ^he was very 
good to me when I really didn't deserve it. 

Owen 

{Quietly) 
Elizabeth, that's not to the point. 

Mrs. Owen 

{With a certain strength) 
It is. Ida thinks because a thing is new that it is 
right; that you and I have foolish ideas on marriage 
and divorce. She doesn't know how we^ 



Owen 

{Stopping her) 



Elizabeth! 



Ida 

{Turning to them desperately) 

Mother, mother; what do you both want me to do? 

What are you both arguing with me this way for? 

Do you think it easy for me to acknowledge failure, to 

take up a new life, alone, when I'm not prepared for 



CIRCLES 175 

it? Oh, why is it we three can't talk together with- 
out cutting ourselves with every word? I know 
it's difficult for you to have me submitted to all that 
must follow: the talk, the stripping of my private af- 
fairs before a court which has no right to know, the 
newspapers, the headlines, the story played up out of 
all proportion to its worth. I've thought of all that; 
but it seems so unimportant now. (Going to her.) 
Does it hurt you so much to have me leave Curtis, 
when you see he and I haven't a single thing in com- 
mon? 

Mrs. Owen 

You have Helen! 

Owen 

Yes: have you forgotten your daughter? 

Mrs. Owen 

( Taking her hands) 
Oh, Ida, in spite of everything you say, I think 
divorce is terrible when there is a little child depend- 
ing on you both. 

Ida 

{She looks at the two and then slowly sits down as 
though stunned) 
Strange! That's why I thought it terrible to stay. 
You're shocked because I felt Curtis' episodes meant 
nothing; yet, in spite of your feeling about them, you 
still ask me to stay with him for Helen's sake! 



176 CIRCLES 

Owen 

( Uncomfortably) 
Yes, for the sake of your child. 

Ida 

Is that a man's point of view? 

Mrs. Owen 
It is mine, too, Ida. 

Ida 

You feel as strongly as that! 

Mrs. Owen 

( Thinking Ida is weakening) 
What's to prevent your making another try together ? 

Owen 

Wait a while, anyway. Don't be hasty. Take the 
time to consider. Stay here with us a bit and 

Mrs. Owen 

{Pleading) 
Your father's right: we're older; we've lived; we 
know. Try to patch things up. Perhaps in time^ 

Ida 

{With pointed abruptness) 
Mother, have you asked yourself why Curtis went 
outside? Why I couldn't hold him? Why I did not 
want to hold him? 



CIRCLES 177 

Mrs. Owen 



Ida! 



Ida 

It is because — because we both made a terrible mis- 
take — totally misread ourselves. I do not love Curtis. 
I see I never have loved him. 

Owen 
Never loved him? Then, why did you marry him? 

Ida 

{Enigmatically ) 
Some day I may tell you. I didn't understand 
then. I do now. 

Mrs. Owen 
Why, you wouldn't even listen to us when we tried 
to dissuade you against 

Ida 

That, too, I didn't understand at the time. 
{Slowly) I must be careful not to make another mis- 
take. 

Owen 

Mistake to keep a home for your child with her 
father? 

Mrs. Owen 

(Poignantly) 
You think that a mistake ? 



178 CIRCLES 

Ida 

{With a certain desperation as they stand shocked and 
confused by her words) 
How can I give the child a home when Curtis and 
I do not love each other? Didn't you ever think of it 
in that way? I have. That's the real reason I'm 
leaving. I can't give her a real home with Curtis! 
I don't want the child to grow up in just a place. 
She deserves something more than that. She'd be 
stifled. She couldn't be free. She'd be pressed down 
by our unhappiness. She'd detect our restlessness. 
She'd not have the peace her childhood has the right to 
ask. Curtis and I would differ on everything about 
her as we'd differ on everything else. We have al- 
ready. That's what suddenly frightened me after 
desperately clinging for so many months. I felt the 
child was being hurt, that she was beginning to see 
our unhappiness. I couldn't stand that. Why, she 
asked me something to-night before she went to sleep 
that I had to lie about. That would have been the 
beginning. It came over me I must leave before it 
was too late. I can't see her joy frozen again by the 
looks Curtis and I gave each other — looks that made 
her ask the question. Somehow I felt her whole life 
might be shaped by those looks. I can't let my little 
child run that risk. I can't and I won't. 

Owen 

{Who has been trying to get a word in) 
And do you think you alone are capable of supply- 
ing what a father has to give? 



CIRCLES 179 

Ida 

Fm thinking that one parent who loves her will be 
better for Helen than two in the same house who do 
not love each other! 

Mrs. Owen 

{Deeply moved) 
What is she saying? 

Owen 

{Same) 
She doesn't know. 

Mrs. Owen 
Oh! 

Ida 

And then afterwards when Helen grows up and 
Curtis and I are weary, and begin more and more to 
drop the mask before her, and she sees and understands 
fully and perhaps loves us both with all her heart! 
Have I the right to offer her that problem? To ask 
her love to stretch over our severed lives, to let her 
feel she tied us together? No, no! She'd end by si- 
lently reproaching us because we didn't respect her 
right for love in her home. And all the time, Curtis 
and I would be desperately trying to keep her near us 
— because we would be afraid of what would happen 
to each other when the link was broken. And then one 
day, maybe, something would snap v/ithin her, and she'd 
go — to what? Oh, how I'd tremble for her if I felt 
she married to escape her home! 



i8o CIRCLES 

Mrs. Owen 

{Poignantly) 
So that was why you married Curtis! 

Ida 

{Seeing what she has inadvertently let slip) 

No. No. 



It is — it is! 



No! 



Mrs. Owen 



Ida 



Mrs. Owen 



Oh! 



Ida 

{Realizing the situation) 
Well, then: yes, mother: that was why I married 
Curtis ! 

Owen 

Ida! {There is an ominous pause.) 

Ida 

I didn't know at the time but I see it now. I never 
meant to tell you. I didn't mean to hurt you. But 
now you know why I am leaving my husband. I — I 
couldn't stand the thought of having my life with him 
as — as yours has been here. 



CIRCLES i8i 

Mrs. Owen 

{Defensively) 



Our life? 



Ida 

Oh, I know now what it has been all these years. 
And I couldn't sit face to face alone with my husband, 
going on, as you and father have, through the mo- 
mentum of habit but without love. 

Owen 

How dare you say this! 

Ida 

Isn't it true? Didn't I live here? Didn't I see it 
all without understanding it ? Didn't I feel it ? ( They 
are silent.) Oh, I couldn't go on with Curtis — 
frozen — eyeing each other in the silences: he with the 
consciousness I had forgiven him, eating at his heart 
and not daring to leave: and I tricking myself with 
the magnanimity I had displayed in forgiving him and 
not wishing to lessen the beauty of my sacrifice. That 
sha'n't be my marriage. Helen sha'n't grow up there. 
No. No. 

{There is a silence. Owen has stared at her 
tense and silent. Mrs. Owen has been cut by 
each word and finally sobs, as her husband goes 
to her.) 

Mrs. Owen 
That my daughter could say this to us — after all 
we have done for her! 



1 82 CIRCLES 

Owen 

Sh! {With a cold restraint throughout.) You'd 
better go to your room now, Ida. 

Ida 

{Diffidently) 
I had to let you see how I felt. You forced it out 
of me. Helen means everything to me. I am doing 
what I think is best. 

Owen 

{Restrained) 
That is all one can do. Good-night. 

Ida 

I have no place to go. You'll let me stay here for a 
little while — even after what I've said? 

Owen 

You are quite sure you will be comfortable here 
with your mother and me? 

Ida 
I sha'n't be in the way, shall I? 

Mrs. Owen 

No, no. You've cut me to the quick. But all we 
have is yours. Our whole life together has been for 
you. 

(Owen gazes into the fire with his back turned 
to them,) 



CIRCLES 183 

Ida 
Mother, don't cry. {She kneels beside Mrs. 
Owen with a burst of feeling.) Oh, mother, mother. 

Mrs. Owen 

{Gathering her in her arms.) 
My child. 

Ida 

{After a long silence) 
Oh, mother, if we could only be close. 

Mrs. Owen 
How could we be when you think I've done you a 
great wrong ? 

Ida 
Oh, can't we try? We need each other more than 
ever now. 

Mrs. Owen 
I've always needed you. 

Ida 

We're both alone now. 

Mrs. Owen 

Don't hurt your father: it's not been easy for him 
to hear what you've just said. 

Ida 
Father, will you forgive me? 



1 84 CmCLES 

Owen 

{Without turning) 
I suppose one must forgive even the truth at times. 

Ida 

Why must you and mother always be so far apart? 

Mrs. Owen 
Hush, child. 

Ida 

{Looking slowly from one to the other) 
If it had brought you two together, all the sacrifice 
for me might have been worth it. 

Mrs. Owen 
We did what we thought was best for you. We 
never expected you would reproach us. 

Ida 

{Bowing her head) 
Mother, I've said I was sorry that it slipped out. 
Can't you ever forgive me? 

Mrs. Owen 

( Tenderly ) 
Oh, yes; because you may have to face the same 
thing yourself some day. 

Ida 

The same thing? 



CIRCLES 185 

Mrs. Owen 
Yes: the reproaches of your child. 

Ida 

{Startled) 
Helen? 

Mrs. Owen 
Yes. 

Ida 
{As she sees OwEN turn and eye her) 
Oh, no! No!! 

Mrs. Owen 
( Tenderly ) 
How do you know she will not reproach you for 
leaving her father as you have reproached me for 
staying ? 

Ida 

No, no: that couldn't be! 

Owen 
How do you know? 

Ida 

{She looks toward him a second and then at her 

mother) 
That would be terrible. Terrible!! 

Mrs. Owen 
Yes; terrible if she judges you as you have us. 



i86 CIRCLES 

Ida 

{Losing complete control of herself) 
Oh, mother, I'm miserable. Now I see what I 
have said to you. Now I know how I hurt you. For- 
give me^ — forgive me. {Sobbing.) I was so sure I 
was right ... so sure. ... If she should say such 
things to me I couldn't stand it. I love her so. Oh, 
now I shall always fear her reproaches when she 
grows up. 

Mrs. Owen 

{Comforting her and speaking with vision) 
A woman never can understand her mother till she 
has a child of her own. {There is a long pause.) 
Come, dear. You are worn out. You need sleep. 
Come. I'll go to your old room with you. {She urges 
Ida to rise.) Come. {She puts her arm about Ida 
and leads her toward the door.) Don't cry, child. 
You'll be sick. Hush, dear, for my sake. 

(Mrs. Owen and Ida go out in back so close 
in each other s thoughts that they seem to have 
forgotten OwEN who has stood almost imper- 
sonally watching them. As the door closes 
after them he smiles cynically.) 

Owen 
Huh! These women! 

{He stands there with his hands behind his 
hack J warming them before the fire.) 

[the curtain falls] 



THE UNBORN 



THE PEOPLE 

Wilton Burgess, a fashionable childrens photog- 
rapher. 
Rhy, his wife. 
The Woman. 

SCENE 
At the Burgess* one winter evening about nine o'clock. 



THE UNBORN* 

^ SIMPLE cozy library, on the ground floor 
^g of a small house, is disclosed. A door at the 
^ "^ back opens on the hallway without. On one 
side large mahogany folding doors close off the other 
rooms. A grate with a dull fire is directly opposite. 
Before this, at right angles, is a large couch on which 
Burgess is reclining. Near it, Rhy, his wife, sits 
on a small, low rocker. A shaded lamp and some 
candles softly light the room, which is furnished in 
quiet taste: a few pictures with dark frames, rows of 
books, several tapestry chairs, a piece of statuary, and 
some ferns are to be observed. 

Wilton Burgess is in his early forties, rather 
good-looking, of no particularly distinguishing fea- 
tures, though his face is a kind one and he is not devoid 
of a certain sensitiveness in speech and in apperception. 
He is in a dressing-gown and slippers. His left arm is 
bandaged at the wrist and at times it seems to pain 
him. 

Rhy, though the picture of health, has obviously 
passed the first flush of young womanhood. She is at- 
tractive in a quiet way with her soft voice and gentle 
gestures. At present, however, she seems moody and 
pensive. She wears a simple negligee and her hair 
is loosely coiled for comfort. 

* Copyright, 1914, by George Middleton. All rights reserved. 



igo THE UNBORN 

Burgess is smoking while thoughtfully looking at 
Rhy, who has put down her magazine. A bell is heard. 

Burgess 
Was that the bell? 

Rhy 

No. 

Burgess 
Ella's out? 

Rhy 
Yes; motion pictures. 

Burgess 
The romance of the poor, eh? 

Rhy 

(Sententiously) 
Yes. 

Burgess 
{Sitting up) 
What are you thinking of? 

Rhy 

You and me. 

Burgess 
Something serious? 



Perhaps. 



Out with it. 



Shall I? 



THE UNBORN 
Rhy 

Burgess 

Rhy 



Burgess 
{Relighting his cigar) 



191 



Yes. 



Rhy 

{Slowly) 
I was realizing it has been a long while since you 
and I have really sat down quietly together. And I 
suppose if it hadn't been for the accident yesterday 



Burgess 



Nonsense. 



Rhy 

{Anxiously) 
Oh, you will be careful crossing the streets. 
Promise. 

Burgess 

{Feeling his bandaged wrist) 
Don't worry, dear. Lots of people escape auto- 
mobiles. It's becoming an American instinct. 



192 THE UNBORN 

Rhy 
Don't jest about it. You jest so much at everything 
I say. I might almost suspect you're doing it to hide 
your feelings — if — {Impulsively) Oh, you do love me 
just the same, don't you? 

Burgess 
{Puzzled) 
What are you talking of, Rhy? 

Rhy 
Have you been disappointed in me? 

Burgess 
Disappointed ? 

Rhy 

/ have been so happy with you all these ten years — 
selfishly happy. 

Burgess 
We've got along better than most married people, 
I suppose. 

Rhy 

But I'm afraid of prosperity, somehow. 

Burgess 
We've managed to get through the hard daySi 
That's the real test, isn't it? 



THE UNBORN 193 

Rhy 

{Doubtfully) 
Vvn not sure. When we started in with our little 
picture gallery, we only had each other. But now 

that we have everything 

{She shakes her head slowly.) 

Burgess 
{Looking at her) 
Have we everything now? 

Rhy 

All we want, I mean. 

Burgess 
{Slowly) 
All you want. 

Rhy 

{With a quick glance, as she rises) 
I was speaking of what we own. 

Burgess 
{En igmatically ) 
So I thought. 

Rhy 

But you were thinking of the — the other thing. 

Burgess 
Isn't it a bit natural, sometimes? 



194 THE UNBORN 

Rhy 
(Quietly) 
It*s generally the woman who^ 



Burgess 
Men don't say it. 

Rhy 

(Moved) 
I felt you blaming me these many months; maybe 
it's been years. 

Burgess 
( Tenderly ) 
I've not blamed you, dear. I have only been wait- 
ing for you to speak. 

Rhy 

You have been disappointed. (He rises and throws 
the cigar in the fireplace.) But v/e were so poor at 
the start, Wilton. You agreed with me that if we were 
to have children we ought first to be able to give 
them everything. 

Burgess 
Yes; I fooled myself, too. 

Rhy 

(Quickly) 
Do you believe that I ? 



THE UNBORN 195 

Burgess 
Maybe we both have been cowards! 

Rhy 
Wilton! 

Burgess 
Yes, afraid to assume the responsibility. (Seeing 
she is unhappy) But don't let's talk of it, dear. 

Rhy 

{With some difficulty) 
We must; it's always in your thoughts. 

Burgess 
{Coming to her and taking her hands) 
Isn't it ever in yours? 

Rhy 

{Lowering her eyes) 
That's unkind of you. 

Burgess 
Well, anyway, I mustn't hurt you like this. For- 
give me! Maybe the accident shook me up a bit. 

Rhy 

{Dully) 
You won't understand. 



196 THE UNBORN 

Burgess 
Perhaps fear Is natural with some women. I don't 
blame them. 

Rhy 

(^Quickly) 
I'm not afraid of having a child. I'm' afraid of 
afterwards: when it faces life — ^with its innocence, its 
enthusiasm, its hopes. 

Burgess 
Is life so terrible? 

Rhy 
Yes; when one thinks of it. 

Burgess 
( Tenderly ) 
Don't you ever feel like giving life, Rhy? 

Rhy 

{Slowly J as though trying to fathom her intimate 

feelings ) 
Sometimes: yes, sometimes; only — something holds 
me back. There's something locked : some barrier that 
needs sweeping away. {Half desperately) Oh, if I 
were only sure of life. 

Burgess 
{Turning away) 
One never is. 



THE UNBORN 197 

Rhy 
There are moments when one knows everything. 

Burgess 
{Thoughtfully J after a long silence) 
It's been ten years. We're getting older, and soon 
you 

Rhy 
{Lowering her eyes) 
I know. 

Burgess 
There shouldn't be too many years between parents 
and their children. They both lose touch as they grow 
older. 

Rhy 

{Shyly) 
But I'm not ready yet. Unless — unless — ^you ? 

Burgess 
Insist ? 

Rhy 
{Half inaudihly) 
Some men do. 

Burgess 
{Soothing her) 
I never will, Rhy. I think it should be a mutual 
wish. 



198 THE UNBORN 

Rhy 

{Close to him) 
You've been a dear. You've always considered me. 
I realize, when I hear other wives talk, what it means 
to have a husband like you. 

Burgess 
I have never forgotten that it is you who bear the 
child. 

Rhy 

(Slowly) 
And in your heart you think I've taken advantage 
of your — your consideration? 

Burgess 
I only know there are millions of mothers! 

Rhy 

(Gazing thoughtfully before her) 
I wonder how many would have been mothers if 
they'd known all they had to go through, or if they'd 
even had my experience bringing up children ? It was 
all left on my shoulders, you know, when mother 
died. 

Burgess 
(With an unconscious touch of bitterness) 
But I never like to believe it was the care you gave 
your two little sisters which was to wear out your 
feeling for children of your own. 



THE UNBORN 199 

Rhy 
Don't say that. 

Burgess 
Well, then: robbed me of my right. 

Rhy 

Your right? 

Burgess 
I didn't mean to use that harsh word. 

Rhy 
It's as good as any other to describe your feeling. 

Burgess 
Rhy? {With consideration again.) What is a 
husband to do if he loves his wife and wants children 
and — ^and finds his house empty? 

Rhy 

Empty? Wilton, I'm here. I love you. Can't / be 
everything to you as you are to me? 

Burgess 
It isn't a question of that. 

Rhy 

It is with me. And maybe that's the reason I can't 
give myself completely to the other. 



200 THE UNBORN 

Burgess 
What do you mean ? 

Rhy 

That sometimes a child takes a woman away from 
her husband. 

Burgess 
I see. I see. You don't trust yourself. 

Rhy 

It isn't that. {Inadvertently) Only, maybe, Fm not 
sure of you. 

Burgess 
When I want it so? 

Rhy 

{Defensively) 
Many men do before the child comes. But do you 
know what it means? Does any man really know be- 
forehand ? We've been so close in everything, Wilton ; 
I've shared your work. Every day I've gone to the 
office with you, just as when we were starting our 
little shop together; and even now when we have 
assistants and some one else could do my work. That 
would all have to be changed, dear. 

Burgess 
Maybe I — I would like it to be changed. {She 
withdraws her hands from his shoulders as though 
hurt.) I never could have been where I am without 



THE UNBORN 201 

you. I realize that. But we have everything, as you 
say. I suppose it's a masculine instinct, yet I hate 
to see you work every day with those children, posing 
them, handling them, understanding them like a born 
mother. And then always the thought they're not ouf 
children. They belong to mothers who didn't want 
them, fathers who didn't want them. Oh, I simply 
can't see you there any longer, Rhy. 

Rhy 

{Sharply) 
You want to take my work from me ? 

Burgess 
No. But 

Rhy 

{With feeling) 
All the years I've shared it with you, built it up, 
helped you. Wasn't It my suggestion that you special- 
ize on children's pictures? Hasn't it all been my work 
as well as yours? 

Burgess 
{Testily) 
Yes, but for what have we worked? Just for our- 
selves? Is that all there is in life? {With a quick, 
intuitive glance) Rhy! Is that why you're afraid of 
motherhood ? 

Rhy 

No, no. 



202 THE UNBORN 

Burgess 
Your work does mean more to you than that. 

Rhy 

{Defending herself) 
Would you give up your work to be a father? 

Burgess 
Don't be absurd. It's not the same with a man. 

Rhy 
It's a choice many women have to face these days. 

Burgess 
Some women have both. 

Rhy 

/ should want to give everything to my child. I 
couldn't bear to have anybody else care for it. I know 
all the risks, all the dangers. I've been through it. I 
know the incompetence of nurses — nurses to whom 
we trust those little tender lives. Oh, I'd worry 
every moment, as I did with my sisters. It's the way 
I'm made. I'd have to do everything myself. 

{She sinks in the chair and he finally comes to 
her, very tenderly.) 

Burgess 
It's all right, Rhy. We mustn't let it come between 
us. That's all, girl, dear. 



THE UNBORN 203 

Rhy 

{Murrnuringj as she kisses his hand) 
Just wait — ^wait. 

{They stare thoughtfully before them a long 
while. The bell rings and, as it is repeated, it 
gradually seems to bring them out of their 
mood.) 

Burgess 
I was sure I heard the bell • 



Rhy 
{Drying her eyes) 
Who could it be this time of night? 

Burgess 
Possibly a telegram. 

Rhy 

You'd better go. 

{He goes out and she seems puzzled.) 
What a curious feeling — ^who can it be? 

(Rhy goes back as though half-impelled in 

spite of herself, and listens to the conversation, 

outside.) 

The Woman 
Mr. Burgess? 

Burgess 

{Somewhat gruffly) 

Yes. 



204 THE UNBORN 

The Woman 
Please may I see you a moment, inside? 

Burgess 
But 

The Woman 
{Poignantly) 
Please — please — only for a moment. Please. 

Rhy 

{As though moved) 
Let her come in, Wilton. 

(Burgess returns, followed timidly by The 
Woman, luho is middle-aged^ poorly dressed, 
with a thin, pale face and tired eyes. 

She carries a medium-sized package wrapped 
in a newspaper. She looks up and sees Rhy. 
There is an embarrassed pause.) 

Rhy 
{Kindly) 
Do you wish to see my husband, alone? 

The Woman 
Your husband ? Oh, please, don't go, Mrs. Burgess. 
Maybe having a lady here with me will help him to 
understand better. 

Burgess 
{Impatiently) 
But if you've any business, v^^hy didn't you come and 
see me at my office? 



THE UNBORN 205 

The Woman 
(Simply) 
I go to work before your office is open. 

Burgess 
I'm always there till after five. 

The Woman 
I work till six. 

Rhy 
(Who has been somewhat mysteriously impressed) 
Sit down. You must be tired. 

The Woman 
{Sitting on the edge of the chair) 
Thanks. 

Rhy 

(After a pause) 
You're trembling. Are you cold? 

The Woman 
No: guess I'm shaky coming to a gentleman's house 
like this. 

Rhy 
But you must have had a good reason. 

The Woman 
(Quickly) 
Oh, I have. (Turning to Mr. Burgess) I've come 
to bring you something what's yours. 



2o6 THE UNBORN 



Burgess 
(Surprised) 



Mine? 



The Woman 
(Indicating package) 
I left it at the door, like they do children they don't 
want. I rang the bell and went across the street to 
see if you'd get it. But you didn't go to the door. I 
was fraid it would get broken or stolen if I left it 
there all night. I couldn't leave it, so I thought you'd 
let me explain. 

(With some slight hesitation The Woman 
nervously unwraps the package. She hands a 
small framed photograph timidly to BuRGESS, 
who is greatly surprised on seeing it. Rhy 
watches, puzzled and interested.) 

Burgess 
(Rather sharply) 
Where did you get this? 

The Woman 
(Nervously) 
I can explain. A friend. She gave it to me to give 
you 'cause she wanted to be sure you'd get it back safe, 
and 'cause she was afraid if she brought it back her- 
self, you might arrest her. 

Rhy 

What is she saying, Wilton? 



THE UNBORN 207 

Burgess 
Your friend was right. But I don't see how your 
coming is going to save her. 

The Woman 
{Poignantly) 
You wouldn't arrest her when she sent me back with 
it? 

Rhy 
What is it, Wilton? 

The Woman 
{Slowly) 
It's the picture what was stolen from your show- 
case. 

Burgess 

{Eyeing her) 
If your friend were afraid of arrest, why didn't she 
send it back by express or destroy it? 

The Woman 
Destroy that? Oh, she couldn't do it. She tried. 
{Quickly J as he eyes her suspiciously) She told me she 
tried. 

Rhy 

Let me see it, Wilton. 

(The Woman takes it from Burgess, gives 
it a quick glance^ and hands it to Rhy, return- 
ing to her seat.) 



2o8 THE UNBORN 

Rhy 

Oh, yes; I remember. 

The Woman 
{Her face glowing) 
Ain't he beautiful? 

Rhy 
Yes, I suppose so. 

The Woman 
{She speaks as though it were all real, while they listen 
with increased interest) 
My friend told me the boy used to call for her to 
take him from the show-case every day, when she went 
to work, all the winter mornings, when the lights were 
still on, and every evening when she went home in 
the dark. She'd heard him calling when she was work- 
ing, when all the other noises in the shop were trying 
to drown his voice. And she couldn't just wait till 
she could stand alone before him. And he'd talk to 
her and want to be taken out of the cold to his toys 
and his little bed. And when she'd come again the 
next morning, he'd tell her he hated being shut up 
with nobody to pull the covers up or pat him in the 
night. My friend told me she had to do what he 
asked. 

Rhy 

{Impressed) 
This little boy? 



THE UNBORN 209 

The Woman 
{Smiling) 
Yes, her little boy, as he seemed to be, always call- 
ing, day and night, for her to take him from the show- 
case. 

Rhy 

Strange ! 

The Woman 
She seemed to live only for him. She had a child 
of her own at last. 

Rhy 

She has no children? 

The Woman 
She ain't married. 

Burgess 
So she broke the glass and stole it, eh? 

The Woman 
Yes. Every night she'd come back, but people were 
always near. One night it was raining. She waited 
till the street was empty. In the dark, nobody heard 
her break the glass. Then the little boy and her were 
alone in the rain. She put him close to her so he 
wouldn't get wet. She ran home. He kept her warm. 
She could feel him loving at her breast — her dry breast. 
Oh — {There is a pause) Then she put him on a 



2IO THE UNBORN 

chair beside her bed and she slept for the first time 
since she'd seen him. 

Rhy 

( Tenderly ) 
Then why didn^t she keep him? 

The Woman 
Because her room was dirty and small and she was 
away all day working, and it wasn't no place to keep 
a child. 

Burgess 
Let me have the photograph, Rhy. 

{He takes it and The Woman eagerly 
watches him as he smiles at the picture,) 
Umph ! so she wanted you enough to steal you ? Well, 
my little lad, we'll not have you tempting people like 
that. 

{He lifts it high above him as though intending 
to break it,) 

The Woman 
{Startled) 
Don*t! 

Burgess 
{Putting it down slowly and speaking kindly) 
You stole it yourself. 

The Woman 
{Faltering) 
Yes. 



THE UNBORN 211 

Burgess 
I thought so. 

Rhy 
Oh! 

The Woman 
{With emotion) 
Don't turn away from me, Mrs. Burgess. I ain't 
a real thief. I did it because I didn't have what other 
women had. Because I had so much to give the boy! 
( There is a pause as The Woman lowers her 
eyes and quietly sobs. BuRGESS watches her 
as though trying to think what to do. Rhy 
gazes at her, then goes slowly to her, putting 
her hand on The Woman's shoulder. The 
Woman looks up, takes it impulsively, and then 
lets it go.) 

The Woman 
I beg pardon, I ain't used to having people kind 
to me. 

Rhy 

{With a certain awe) 
And you work in a shop ten hours a day. 

The Woman 
Yes. Ten hours. 

Rhy 

Oh, the waste, Wilton — the waste! 



212 THE UNBORN 

Burgess 
Yes; when women have so much motherhood to give 
and can't or won't. 

(Rhy looks at her husband ^ understanding his 
implication. Then wiping her eyes, she gazes 
at The Woman, who sits with her head bowed 
in depression.) 

Rhy 
Do you love the little boy? 

The Woman 

Yes. 

Burgess 
You talk as though the photograph were something 
real. 

The Woman 
He wanted love. It's in his eyes. 

Burgess 
That's odd. 

Rhy 
Whose child is it, Wilton? 

Burgess 
The Burlingames'. He's gone to the dogs: you 
know what became of his wife. 

The Woman 
And they had a beautiful boy like that! 



THE UNBORN 213 

Burgess 
(Smiling) 
Why, the boy's a young man now, able to take care 
of himself. This photograph was taken years ago. 

The Woman 
(Startled) 
He's grown up? 



Burgess 



Yes. 



The Woman 
(Poignantly) 
And his curls? Have they cut his curls? 



Burgess 



Why, of course. 



The Woman 
(As though she had lost everything) 

Oh, I never thought he'd grow up! 

(There seems nothing they can say: they look 
at each other^ deeply moved. Then they watch 
her as she rises and sighs like one who has had 
to accept all things in life.) 

I'll be going now if you'll let me. 

Burgess 
I'd really forgotten all about this. I didn't even 
report it to the police. So you've nothing to fear. 



214 THE UNBORN 

The Woman 
There ain't much dlference in jail and my work ex- 
cept I can walk out at night. 

Rhy 

{Impulsively) 
Would you like the photograph? 

Burgess 
Yes: do take it. 

The Woman 
(Refusing it, with difficulty) 
No, no. I couldn't take him back where I live. 
He seemed to grow sadder there. Maybe he was like 
the other children. {They look at her in question.) 
They're all like that — the real ones; they like me a 
little at first, but I feel them: grow away from me. I 
thought he wouldn't because — because he was only 
make-believe. And he looked like Imn. 

Rhy 
Him? 

The Woman 

{Simply) 
Him I was promised to marry. That's what's so 
hard. He died and I've nothing of him only what's 
in my thoughts. I wanted a kid so and then he was 
took off sudden and I was alone. {Wistfully) Oh, it's 
awful not to have something that's your man's; some- 



THE UNBORN 215 

thing you can see living about you — that keeps speakin' 
to you with his eyes or looks, after he's gone and a 
woman's left alone^ 

Burgess 
(Quietly) 
Would you like if, instead, we put the little boy 
back in the window ? 

The Woman 
(Eagerly) 
Oh, would you? 

Burgess 
The first thing in the morning. Yes. 

The Woman 
That will be something when I walk past. 

Burgess 
And will you come in and see me to-morrow after 
your work is finished? I'll wait for you. Maybe we 
can find something else for you to do, if you wish. 

The Woman 
Oh, thanks. Thanks. (Turning to Rhy, who has 
stood lost in thought.) Good-night, Mrs. Burgess. 

Rhy 

Good-night. 



2i6 THE UNBORN 

The Woman 
(Smiling) 
I thought a mother would help a man to under- 
stand. 

Rhy 

A mother! 

The Woman 
I feel so much happier now. Good-night. 

(Rhy stares before her The others go out. 
She does not move. A curious glow comes 
into her face. A deep e?notion slowly floods a 
definite thought which has taken possession of 
her. She half swoons. The outer door closes 
and Burgess re-enters.) 

Rhy 

Wilton! Wilton!! (Goes to him, embracing him 
eagerly.) Oh, if anything should happen to you! 

Burgess 
{Not understanding) 
Rhy, what's come over you? 

Rhy 

It might have been yesterday! {Terrified at the 
thought) Oh, it would kill me if an accident or — ^ — 

Burgess 
{Trying to quiet her) 
She's upset you, Rhy. 



THE UNBORN 217 

Rhy 

{Clutching him close) 
Oh, I never thought of it that way! Being left 
alone without having — oh! 

Burgess 
(Slowly understanding) 
Dearest ? 

Rhy 

( Sobbing hysterically ) 
She's broken something in me. She's swept away 
things 

Burgess 
Don't cry — ^don't! Little wife. 

Rhy 

(Almost shyly) 

Dearest, you'll be good to me? If 

(He kisses her for an answer, and holds her 
tenderly in his arms.) 

[the curtain falls] 



" Mr. Middleton's plays stand out from the bulk of American drama through 
their literary quality and the serious purpose with which they are conceived, 
Flis is a voice crying in the wilderness of clap-trap makeshifts hugging the 
managerial fancy — keen sense of character and apparently instinctive feeling 
for the feminine point of view, together with his remarkable faculty for seiz- 
ing his people at a crisis in their lives and putting their whole history before 
us with a few deft touches." — Brooklyn Eagle. 

GEORGE MIDDLETON'S TRADITION 

and On Bail, Their Wife, Waiting, The Cheat of Pity and 

Mothers, $1.35 net; by mail $1.44 

" All these little pieces are admirable in technique : they are soundly con- 
structed and written in natural and lucid dialogue. He reveals at every 
point the aptness of the practised playright — this tribute must be paid to an 
author who has dared to analyze in many moods the diverse and fluctuating 
personality of the woman of today — he has sounded to the depths the souls 
of those eccentric and extraordinary women whom he has chosen to depict." 
— Clayton Hamilton in the bookman. 

"He reveals a knowledge of the feminine heart and character and a sym- 
pathy with feminine ideals thai is unusual in one of the opposite sex. Mr. 
Middleton seems on intimate terms with them all and his gallery of contempo- 
rarj' portraits of women is complete. Women who want to understand them- 
selves should take a look at Tradition : what they see there will, on the 
whole, be flattering. In tact, the modern independence seeking, own think- 
ing woman has not found a more sympathetic and understanding friend 
than the author of Tradition. The workmanship of these plays is about as 
perfect as could be — which means they are most agreeable to read." — 
New York Globe. 

" In all of these plays the conversation is tense and suggestive. They are 
eminently actable and are well adapted for reading." — Boston Evening 
Transcript. 

" These little plays are concentrated drama, easy to read and visualize, 
thoughtful as to theme and powerful in suggestiveness." — Revievj of Reviews. 

"Mr. Middleton's plays furnish interesting reading. The author deserves 
praise for his skill and conscientious workmanship — succeeds admirably ss 
a chronicler of striking events and as an interpreter of exceptional people 
in exceptional circumstances." — New York Times. 

" The chief advantage of his method is its absolute sincerity and realism. 
The real drama of a life time is revealed. They are a real contribution to 
the stage of today." — Phila. Public Ledger. 



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"The plays are admirable; the conversations have the true style of 
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GEORGE MIDDLETON'S EMBERS 

And The Failures, The Gargoyle, In His House, Madonna, and 
The Man Masterful. 

$t,35 net f by rmdU $t,44 

°' All are clear concise dynamic, suggesting drama rather than revealing 
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EMBERS: "This is a tender and inspiring piece, somewhat akin to 
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Nation. " By far the best , . . the interpretation of American 
middle age is certainly searching and realistic." — Living j^ge, 

THE FAILURES: "It is written with a tensity of submerged move- 
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vital." — Chicago Evening Post. " Full of genuine insight."^-^ 
Archibald Henderson in North Carolina Review. 

THE GARGOYLE: " The cleverest, certainly the subtlest . . .the 
scene between the two me»i is absorbing and the outcome unexpected." 
— St. Paul Pioneer Press. " A curious Conceit very ingeniously and 
and somewhat plausibly treated." — Nation. 

IN HIS HOUSE: "Is prodigious , . . with unexpected logical 
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stupendous tragedy, powerfully, tensely written." — Los Angeles Times. 

MADONNA : " Here a difficult subject is treated with exceeding deli- 
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every sensitive spirit." — Richard ^urton in ^ellman. " Is the most 
exquisite brief study of delicate maidenly modesty on the brink of 
marriage that has come to my knowledge." — Los Jlngeles "Uimes. 
*' Madonna I especially liked for its creating an atmosphere and its 
lovely reticence." — Walter P. ^aton. " It was received with re- 
markable appreciation — -it belongs to the small class of those written by 
specialists in emotion for sensitive people. There is something ex- 
quisite about it." — ^^anchester Guardian, England. 

THE MAN MASTERFUL : " Is dramatic writing at once strong and 
subtle." — Chicago Evening 'Post. " Is the most effective play in the 
volume." — St. Louis Post Dispatch. 



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*'I have carefully studied the plays of George Middleton and admire not 
only his technical dexterity but also his sympathetic characterization. Tech- 
nically speaking, he can give cards and spades to many successful drama- 
tists. , . I can answer for their readable quality." — James Hunefier, 
Author of Egoists, Iconoclasts, etc. 

GEORGE MIDDLETON'S NOWADAYS 
A Three Act Comedy of American Life. $1.00 net. 

" Nowadays is notable not only as a sane and veracious study of con- 
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limitations imposed by nature and the hard facts of existence. The story, 
free from all sensationalism or extravagance, is strong in the naturalness of 
its situations and the vitality of its contrasted personages." — N. Y. Even- 
ing Post. 

"George Middleton's iVo«Jac/at/s, in which the very fibre of American 
character is woven into the substance of its theme, has done more than any- 
thing else to raise the art to the level of production which characterizes the 
dramatic literature in England and on the Continent." — Boston Transcript. 

*' The first strong impression made by Mr. Middleton's work is the elastic 
breadth of view. We have many men to-day writing on Feminism in some 
of its phases; few indeed who can understand and express so many. He 
shows a broad vision. His plays should interest thinking women every- 
where and should make men think." — Charlotte Perkins Gilman in 
The Forerunner. 

"A striking drama of the present moment and of real people." — The 
Independent. "The spirit of the twentieth century is in his plays; also a 
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of American dramatic literature is distinguished by its earnest realism, its 
sanity and its high good humor." — Current Opinion. " The play appeals 
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skillful should find many readers." — Prof. Richard Burton in The Bellman. 
"Mr. Middleton has tagged his play a comedy, but it remains a little tragedy 
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ing Post. ' ' NoJx>adays is the most significant contribution in drama to the 
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"Steadily interesting and entirely human." — The Nation. "The work 
well deserves publication." — Westminster Gazette. "A good comedy." — 
Detroit Free Press. "The play is well built, the dialogue natural and 
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reflecting in an admirably organized production a vitally significant phase of 
modern life." — Washington Star. "It you want a sane, attractive defin- 
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ARCHIBALD HENDERSON'S THE CHANGING DRAMA 

Its Contributions and Tendencies. By the Author of "George 
Bernard Shaw : His Life and Works," "European Drama- 
tists," etc. 12mo. $1.50 net. 

The pioneer book in English in its field. ^ While a number 
of good books, taking up important dramatists and discussing 
them one after another, are available, this is probably the first 
that describes the significant changes and movements in the 
drama of the last half century, illustrating them by the work of 
leading dramatists and by apt citations of and quotations from 
their plays. The author, publicist as well as dramatic critic, 
aims to show the expression of the larger realities of con- 
temporary life in the drama, the widening of social influence 
of the stage, the new technic, form, and content of the play, 
the substitution of the theme for the hero, the conflict of wills 
for that of arms, etc. In short, to give a brief but authorita- 
tive general survey with a more detailed appraisal of some of 
the chief creative contributions. 

The chapter headings indicate the content and scope of the 
work: Drama in the New Age; The New Criticism and New 
Ethics ; Science and the New Drama ; The New Forms — 
Realism and the Pulpit Stage; The New Forms — Naturalism 
and the Free Theatre ; The Battle with Illusions ; The Ancient 
Bondage and the New Freedom; The New Technic; The 
Play and the Reader; The New Content; The Newer 
Tendencies. 

The author, though an American, has also studied the 
drama in the theatres of Great Britain and the Continent, and 
has before this demonstrated that he is a dramatic scholar 
and a keen, clear-eyed, entertaining critic. His articles have 
appeared in La Societe Nouvelle, Mercure de France, Deutsche 
Revue, Illustreret Tidende, Finsk Tidskrift, T. P.'s Maga- 
zine, etc., etc. 

Maurice Maeterlinck said of his "Interpreters of Life" 
(now incorporated in his "European Dramatists") : "You 
have written one of the most sagacious, most acute, and most 
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cisms of their work are keen and lucid, and have the advan- 
tage of coming from one who has studied the plays 
exhaustively." 

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CLARK'S CONTINENTAL DRAMA OF TO-DAY— OutUnes 
for Its Study 

By Barrett H. Clark^ Editor of and Translator of two of 
the plays in "Three Modern French Plays." 12mo. 
$1.35 net. 
Suggestions, questions, biographies, and bibliographies for 
use in connection with the study of some of the more import- 
ant plays of Ibsen, Bjornsen, Strindberg, Tolstoy, Gorky, 
TcHEKOFF, Andreyeff, Hauptmann, Sudermann, Wedekind, 
ScHNiTZLER, Von Hoffmansthal, Becque, Le Maitre, Lave- 
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GiAcosA, D'Annunzio, Echegaray, and Galdos. 

In half a dozen or less pages for each play, Mr. Clark 
tries to indicate, in a way suggestive to playwriters and 
students, how the skilled dramatists write their plays. It is 
intended that the volume shall be used in connection with 
the reading of the plays themselves, but it also has an inde- 
pendent interest in itself. 

Prof. William Lyon Phelps of Yale: ". . . One of the most useful 
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should have a definite knowledge of the essentials of dramatic tech- 
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Sixth Edition, Enlarged and with Portraits 

HALE'S DRAMATIST'S OF TO-DAY 

By Prof. Edward Everett Hale, Jr., of Union College. 
Rostand, Hauptmann, Sudermann, 
PiNERO, Shaw, Phillips, Maeterlinck 
"A Note on Standards of Criticism," "Our Idea of 

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the volume. $1.50 net. 

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Brooklyn Eagle: "A dramatic critic who is not just 'busting^ himself 
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By Clayton Hamilton 

STUDIES IN STAGECRAFT 

Contents: The New Art of Making Plays, The Pictorial 
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Direction, A Plea for a New Type of Play, The Undramatic 
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uniform for high excellence and elevated standards. . . ." 

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'The Theory of the Theatre. — What is a Play? — The 
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Other Principles of Dramatic Criticism. — The Public 
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— Dramatic Literature and Theatric Journalism. — The Inten- 
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Pleasant and Unpleasant Plays. — Themes in the Theatre. — 
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Bookman: "Presents coherently a more substantial body of idea on 
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Boston Transcript: "At every moment of his discussion he has a 
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THE GERMAN DRAMA OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 

By Georg Witkowski. Translated by Prof. L. E. Horning. 

Kleist, Grillparzer, Hebbel, Ludwig, Wildenbruch, Sudermann, Haupt- 
mann and minor dramatists receive attention. 12mo. $1.00. 

New York Times Review: "The translation of this brief, clear and 
logical account^ was an extremely happy idea. Nothing at the same time 
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BOOKS ON AND OF SCHOOL PLAYS 

By Constance D'Arcy Mackay 

HOW TO PRODUCE CHILDREN'S PLAYS 

The author is a recognized authority on the production 
of plays and pageants in the public schools, and combines en- 
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of the Months, and concludes with numerous valuable an- 
alytical lists of plays for various grades and occasions. 
16mo, probable price $1.20 net (Feb., 1914). 

PATRIOTIC PLAYS AND PAGEANTS 

Pageant of Patriotism (Outdoor and Indoor Versions) : — 
*Princess Pocahontas, Pilgrim Interlude, Ferry Farm Epi- 
sode, *George Washington's Fortune, *Daniel Boone : Patriot, 
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Hawthorne Pageant (for Outdoor or Indoor Produc- 
tion) : — Chorus of Spirits of the Old Manse, Prologue by the 
Muse of Hawthorne, In Witchcraft Days, Dance Interlude, 
Merrymount, etc. 

The portions marked with a star (*) are one-act plays 
suitable for separate performance. There are full directions 
for simple costumes, scenes, and staging. 12mo. $1.35 net. 

THE HOUSE OF THE HEART 

Short plays in verse for children of fourteen or younger : — 
"The House of the Heart (Morality Play)— "The Enchanted 
Garden" (Flower Play)— "A Little Pilgrim's Progress" (Mor- 
ality Play) — "A Pageant of Hours" (To be given Out of 
Doors) — "On Christmas Eve." "The Princess and the Pix- 
ies." "The Christmas Guest" (Miracle Play.), etc. $1.10 net. 

"An addition to child drama which has been sorely needed." — Boston 
Transcript. 

THE SILVER THREAD 

And Other Folk Plays. "The Silver Thread" (Cornish) ; 
"The Forest Sprmg" (Italian) ; "The Foam Maiden" (Celtic) ; 
"Troll Magic" (Norwegian) ; "The Three Wishes" (French) ; 
"A Brewing of Brains" (English) ; "Siegfried" (German) ; 
"The Snow Witch" (Russian). $1.10 net. 

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Uly A. Long's RADISSON : The Voyageur 

12mo. $1.00 net. 
A highly picturesque play in four acts and in verse. The 
central figures are Radisson the redoubtable voyageur who 
explored the Upper Mississippi, his brother-in-law Groseil- 
liers, Owera the daughter of an Indian chief and various 
other Indians. The daring resource of the two white men in 
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features, and over it all is a somewhat unusual feeling for 
the moods of nature which closely follow those of the people 
involved. 

THREE MODERN PLAYS FROM THE FRENCH 

Lemaitre's The Pardon, and Lavedan's Prince D'Aurec, 
translated by Barrett H. Clark, with Donnay's The Other 
Danger, translated by Charlotte Tenney David, with an intro- 
duction to each author by Barrett H. Clark and a Preface 
by Clayton Hamilton. One volume. $1.50 net. 

"The Pardon" is a brilliant three-act love comedy, with 
but three characters. "Prince D'Aurec" is a drama with an 
impoverished Prince, his wife, and a Jew money-lender as 
protagonists. It is full of telling satire on a decadent nobility. 
"The Other Danger" is a tensely emotional play, centering 
around a situation similar to Paula Tanqueray's, but the out- 
come is different. 

Alice Johnstone Walker's LITTLE PLAYS FROM AMERICAN 
HISTORY FOR YOUNG FOLK 

$1.00 net. 
In Hiding the Regicides there are a number of brief and 
stirring episodes, concerning the pursuit of Colonels Whalley 
and Goff by the officers of Charles II at New Haven in old 
colony days. Mrs. Murray^s Dinner Party, in three acts, 
is a lively comedy about a Patriot hostess and British Officers 
in Revolutionary Days. In the four Scenes from Lincoln's 
Time, the martyred President does not himself appear. They 
cover Lincoln's helping a little girl with her trunk, women 
preparing lint for the wounded, a visit to the White House of 
an important delegation from New York, and of the mother 
of a soldier boy sentenced to death — and the coming of the 
army of liberation to the darkeys. Tho big events are touched 
upon, the mounting of all these little plays is simplicity itself, 
and they have stood the test of frequent school performance. 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 



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